


We'll Never Have to Rot Together Underneath the Dirt

by AutumnsAwakening



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Mentions of other Canons, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Slow Burn, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 08:52:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 40,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5660374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnsAwakening/pseuds/AutumnsAwakening
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year after the Reach invasion, Wally manages to crawl out of death's grasp and crashes back into Dick Grayson's life with the assistance of an old "ally". Now their friends and the Justice League must come to terms with not only his apparent revival, but also the restoration of their bitter and enigmatic teammate, Jason Todd. Wally promises they're both fine but Dick knows better. Because you don't get resurrected from the Lazarus Pit and not come out a little messed up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Paperwork is carelessly scattered across a small wooden desk that sways a little too much when Dick Grayson's knees absently knock against it. The aforementioned man (or is that boy? Considering he's barely twenty even with heavy bags under his eyes and a pile of files dispersed around him that would make a fifty-five year old CEO crumble under its weight) sighs as he scrubs a hand through his messy hair. It's only been a month since he passed his police training and became a part of the force but he's already buried with someone else's paperwork.

The grunt work. Not that he assumes it would be any different. He knows he has to work his way up the team. No large sum of money, or top marks, nor endless experience of vigilante training will place him further ahead in this department.

Suddenly the sound of glass shattering echoes and bounces across the walls of his apartment and Dick jolts in his seat, tearing his attention away from his paperwork. Cocking his head to the side, he focuses his hearing carefully on the next following noises.

Several pairs of footsteps clambers against his kitchen's tiled floors and he reflexively reaches toward his right leg in attempt to retrieve his escrima sticks only to pause when he realizes his holster is absent — like it has been for the past year now — and he mentally scolds himself for not fully breaking himself from his former routines. Instead he tucks his hand under his thin desk, gingerly pushing two of his fingers toward a loose plank on the flimsy furniture's underside, and lifts and pushes the small slab of wood aside. His hand then wraps around newly exposed weapons and pulls out the steel rods, rising to his feet as quietly as he can as more commotion emerges from his living area.

He rotates his wrists slightly, anticipation bubbling in his stomach as adrenaline roars through his veins while his mind begins to race.

Who the hell thinks it's a good idea to break into someone's apartment that's on the fifth floor?

He rules out common thieves knowing a heist is severely unlikely simply because he has little valuable possessions on display, so maybe an old foe? But which one?

Some adversary connected to the Justice League, or a bloodthirsty enemy of Batman?

Not that either will achieve much from visiting him. He hasn't been a part of his team for over a year now, not after the life-altering incident that occurred in the North Pole. With his current interest in becoming an office, and Bruce already acquiring another Robin, he doesn't really mingle too much in the affairs of Batman either. He keeps up to date with Gotham activity if his assistance is absolutely necessary or needed of course, but it seems like Barbara, Tim, and Bruce mostly steer clear from requesting his participation in their cases.

Admittedly though, he does miss this blurring feeling of fight or flight sometimes; how borderline fear prickles against his skin as epinephrine is released within his body.

He positions himself, the ends of his escrima sticks lighting up with shockwaves of blue, and—

"Dick? Hello? You in here, dude?"

—nearly drops them.

He swallows down his gasp as a chill settles within the nape of his neck at the sound of a familiar voice. Forcing himself to remain tactically still, he tries to assess the situation but his head feels suddenly heavy; swimming with disbelief and confusion.

"Dick, please man… I… I need help. I know this is hard to believe but—"

"For fuck's sake, West, you sound like a wounded puppy. You know how to find Dick? Not by begging like a fucking bum on the streets, that's for damn sure. You think he's in his room, then—"

"The shit?! Jason, no—!"

Without hesitation, Dick instinctively launches forward once the hinges of his locked door crumble as its kicked in.

The fight is over within minutes. He's immediately thrown back from some ungodly, unexpected strength and the escrima sticks in his hands are forcibly kicked away by a heavy pair of boots. His breath sharply escapes his lungs as his back collides onto the floor with a loud, resounding thud and his vision clouds momentarily when his head knocks against the side of his bedframe.

As he blinks away the dots, he hears a low rumble of a chuckle over him; a voice that sounds equally similar to first one he hears, but decidedly deeper and different. "Daddy wouldn't be too proud with this fight, huh, Dickie?"

Fuck. He must've really hit his head hard.

"What the hell," he groans, rubbing his neck as he peers upwards toward his intruders. His eyes widen immediately. "Oh, oh… _fuck_."

Wally West's freckled face is looming over him with a small smile and a harsh five o'clock shadow. "Hey there, man." He breathes rapidly, unable to contain the excitement pouring visibly into his features. "Miss me?"

Dick swallows thickly. "Wally?"

Aside of the redhead is a taller boy, slightly more broad and with a deep scowl etched across his mouth. He's eying Dick impartially although there's a slight ruthless curl at his chapped lips.

Now Dick feels like he's going to vomit.

"Jason?" he chokes out, "but… _how_?"

"In the flesh," the dark-haired boy grunts out. "And never mind that now. West wants to see the rest of your team. Mind helping us out with that?"

Dick glances over at his disheveled desk and his current case's paperwork spread messily across the furniture and the surrounding floor and then shoots his gaze back to the supposedly-dead-but-not-quite-dead boys standing over him.

He's probably going to be fired on Monday.

* * *

Bruce is the first person he wants to contact, but Jason recoils at the mention of that name so Wally insists on Artemis or Kaldur'ahm instead — someone from the team, which Dick finds slightly strange because shouldn't the speedster want to talk to his parents? His uncle?

But Wally's desire to speak with the blonde archer and the Atlantean makes perfect sense too; after all, Artemis is(was?) Wally's girlfriend, someone the redhead planned to marry, and Kaldur's his other best friend. However, he never once mentions his family, not even Barry, and something creeps up Dick's throat at that stirring realization but he swallows the apprehensive feeling down for the time being.

He hands his best friend his cell phone with Artemis's number ready to dial and Wally engulfs him in a firm hug before taking the cellular device from him and slinks off into a different room, seeking some sort of understandable privacy.

Dick glances to his side; thick tension and silence wedging itself between him and his counterpart upon the speedster's departure.

Their reunion is anything but joyful.

While Wally's is all hugs and smiles, Jason's return is stiff and formal and everything that it shouldn't be. The second Robin was always a lot more aloof than Dick or Tim, but now he's even more calculating and cold than before.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk to Bruce?" he offers quietly to dissipate the impending silence, and Jason sends him the cruelest smirk.

"I'd rather me and Ol' Bats meet a little more… organically. Besides y'know all he talks about on the phone is missions and statistics."

Dick tries not to frown and nods his head once in agreement but, like always, still presses a little bit further than he should. "Is there—"

"—anyone else I wanna talk to?" finishes Jason, still smirking. He steps a little closer and Dick wonders how the younger boy managed to grow bigger and taller than him while he was supposedly dead. The acrobat stills, his breath hitching slightly when he feels Jason's breath ghost across his earlobe, "why Dickie, who better to talk to than my dear older brother? Did you miss me when I was gone?"

"Of course I did," he replies softly, truthfully. "We all did, Jay."

His answer is met with a dark chuckle but before Jason can interrogate him further, Wally traipses back in the room with a brilliant smile adorning his face.

"She's coming — Artemis is coming to get us. She's bringing us back to HQ! Which is, from my understanding, somewhere else now? Never rebuilt Mount Justice, huh?"

"The Justice League allows us to use the WatchTower now," responds Dick, unable to reframe himself from mirroring Wally's contagious grin.

The redhead slings a strong arm around Dick's shoulders, knocking the sides of their heads together as he nearly vibrates with elation. "I'm finally coming home, Dick," he exhales loudly, "After a year of being gone, I'm finally home."

"Yeah," smiles Dick, "it's good to have you home. To have you _both_ home." He shoots a sharp glance at Jason before fixating his vision back onto his best friend. "When is Artemis coming?"

Wally shrugs but still replies, "soon, she said. You guys can give me the grand tour around the WatchTower. Maybe M'gann will bake me some cookies and we can all hang out like old times—"

The next look the acrobat gives Wally immediately dismantles the rest of his sentence. There's no longer a smile on Dick's face and the air around them feels a little heavier than before.

Still, Wally pries forward. "Awh c'mon dude, this isn't about the balcony, is it?"

To simplify the situation, Dick wants to say yes, but that's not the reason at all and they both know it.

But what Wally _doesn't_ know is that Dick's off the team, but how could he? He doesn't know Dick almost retired from the vigilante lifestyle all together; he doesn't how many sleepless nights of tossing and turning his best friend had to endure as the acrobat relived one of the worst days of his life over and over again in his dreams. And Wally especially doesn't know how life could never possibly be anything close to reminiscent of their past lives, their childhood.

Dick feels the aforementioned redhead hold him a little tighter — perhaps in attempt to squeeze some sort of agreement out of him — and he tries to push his harboring thoughts toward the back of his mind.

"I cleaned up the glass door we um… broke." Wally's still stuck on the shattered balcony entrance, a mundane and reasonable thing to think about, and Dick's a little thankful for that. Even if he knows Wally's too smart and perceptive to blame his hesitation on a broken door.

He takes a second to side-glance at the speedster wearily and Wally releases him, throwing up his hands in mock defense as he continues to shift the mood. "Sorry man, didn't wanna destroy the complex's entire security system just to break into your apartment. I'll pay for the damages."

Jason snorts ruefully. "I think Dick can take some money out of his inheritance to fix his door, West." He eyes the files spread about them, adding, "And I'm positive he can take a little time out of his elaborate career to welcome back some old friends."

Dick deflates a little. Of course he can, he's being such an idiot.

It's just so difficult to define this fragmented moment as reality.

He still remembers getting the call from Babs proclaiming Jason's passing, how the warm muggy air in the foreign planet he was currently inhabiting felt like icy shards striking every inch of him. He remembers the malicious laugh of the Joker as he watched the salvaged remains of the security footage once and then destroyed it, smashing it with his hands until the screen from his computer was crushed in and his hands were bloodied and bruised. He remembers watching Barry and Bart return to the team with a strange expression strained across their faces; like their breaths were caught in their chests and they couldn't quite look anyone in the eyes for a week straight. How Artemis collapsed to the floor and while she eventually rose to her feet again, her happiness never followed.

After all that blood and death and tears, this can't possibly be real. But, as he stares into the very alive eyes of his supposedly dead teammates, the dizzying answer flitters in front of him.

_It is._

Without warning, he reaches for Jason and touches his arm. The taller boy gazes at him with an eyebrow quirked, but doesn't move away.

"You're right," he breathes steadily, his stare transfixed on his hand and how it's gripping Jason's forearm. He can feel the cotton material under his palm and fingers and when he squeezes slightly, he can detect Jason's unwavering pulse. Gradually, his gaze travels upwards and to the second Robin's face and then to Wally's. His words are louder now, firmer; " _welcome home_."

He ignores the way Jason's lips stretch into a knowing sneer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've taken some liberties with the show because it ends very ambiguously. Dick gives Kaldur his resignation/goes on an indefinite hiatus from the Team during the last episode and I figured I'd mix in some canon elements and have him train to become a police officer. The Lazarus Pit is also never mentioned in the Young Justice animated series and I don't believe the comics cover it (or if they do, they go over it relatively briefly) so the concept of the pits will be fairly new and enigmatic to everyone.


	2. Chapter 2

When Artemis retrieves them, it's all tears and sobbing and a little violence as she knocks her clenched hands into Wally's chest, screaming at him to explain. Except Wally really  _can't_ , because he honest to god doesn't remember much besides waking up feeling like his ribs were caving in. All he recalls is intense pain and panic but not much else; every other incident that occurred between then and now blurs together in a messy splotch of time. He remembers finding Jason eventually when he's at his absolute wits end, and then crashing through Dick's balcony but that's about it.

She punches him a little hard for some reason when he mentions Dick's name and he looks to the aforementioned boy and Jason for help but neither of them can come to his rescue.

Finally when Wally thinks his beating is coming to an end, readying himself for one more final blow, Artemis instead wraps a hand around the nape of his neck and roughly guides him down into a feverish kiss. The redhead responds eagerly, of course, gingerly taking a hold of her free arm and brings her closer toward him.

Dick eventually clears his throat and when the two break apart finally, the blonde spares no time by dragging them toward the nearest hidden Zeta-Tube even the acrobat is unaware of up until this point. Briefly his thoughts flitter to the possibility of Babs, Tim, or even Bruce installing one close by either for easier accessibility for him just in case his participation in a mission is necessary and urgent, or maybe because it was originally intended for the three to spy on him. Admittedly, either prospect is fairly feasible.

"You ready?" Artemis's inquiry suddenly pulls Dick back down to the present. She's speaking in a tone she rarely ever uses as she grips tightly onto Wally's hand, like if she lets go this moment will somehow vanish into thin air. "I let the Team know and the Justice League too. However, because you're all in your civvies clothes, only a few members of the League, Bart, Barbara, and Tim will be there when you guys arrive. And try to be prepared for a lot of… questions. For the both of you."

She shoots a purposeful look at Jason, standing aside of Dick, and the boy scoffs in response, "let's just get this over with."

The blonde exchanges a quick pointed glance with Dick before nodding her head, stepping inside first and vanishes in a bright, luminescent light. Next is Wally, who eagerly ambles into the transportation device after Artemis, and disappears once another blinding light dulls.

"Are you okay?" Dick asks, placing a hand on Jason's shoulders only for it to be shrugged off.

"Never better," mutters the taller boy, stomping onto the platform. He briefly catches Dick's stare and Dick's reminded how green Jason's eyes are. His face, more chiseled and refined than his predecessor remembers, looks momentarily strained; a foreign expression painted across his features, but he dissolves into the effulgent gleam before Dick can decipher it.

A strange feeling curls in the pit of Dick's stomach. He steps into the blearing light and closes his eyes.

* * *

It's been two hours since Dick initially stepped foot in the WatchTower for the first time in a year. He firstly meets with several members of the League, Dinah inquiring his side of the story, which is brief and vague. His interview ends within twenty minutes and then he's benched to the main living quarters for the next following hours with Tim and Bart.

The aforementioned speedster scrubs a hand through his thick hair and shakes his head in exasperation. "I told you, I don't know how this happened. This didn't… It didn't happen in the future."

"But when you left Wally was dead in your future though, right?" Dick presses and the younger boy nods once.

"There's no such things as fixed points in time, Dick," he explains quietly. "Time is fluid; it perpetually changes depending on different factors like gravity or—"

"—guys traveling back to the past to prevent their grandfathers from dying?" Tim suggests and when Bart furrows his eyebrows together, he adds, "c'mon dude, we all know why you came here in the first place. Maybe the singular action of you traveling back in time somehow altered the future in a way you didn't intend."

"Maybe," Bart half-grins, his eyes transfixed on his hands.

There's a similar ghost of the speedster's expression etched across Tim's face and Dick inwardly sighs to himself. He feels for the both of them, he really does.

Tim's earlier meeting with Jason goes as tensely as expected. The older boy simply gives Tim a once-over when he arrives to the main headquarters before sauntering past his successor and toward the present members of the Justice League, exchanging brief hollow words with Bruce along the way, following Clark into questioning shortly after.

And while Bart's reunion with Wally is slightly more pleasant, with Barry's watery eyes wide with an incredulous look, the first Kid Flash still seems slightly out of place next to his uncle and once-removed cousin. His mannerisms are stiff and stoic and when Bart initially tries to approach him, he just awkwardly pats the youngest speedster on the shoulder before reaching for Artemis, like he's amidst a room filled with chaos and she's the only stable thing in it.

Dick tries not to think about the way Wally looked at him before Bruce ushered the him into a separate office.

"Do you know Jason isn't going back to the Manor?" Barbara suddenly hisses at him, pulling him aside while Bart and Tim became engulfed in their own hushed conversation.

"What do you mean?" he mutters back, perplexed on why Barbara's pinning Jason's current (or lack of) residency on him.

The redhead studies him from behind her cowl and suddenly Dick feels exposed and vulnerable without his Nightwing uniform and own mask on. "He says he wants to stay with you."

"Me?" repeats Dick, dazed.

She narrows her eyes at him. "No, the other Dick Grayson." she mocks and he rolls his eyes in retaliation, knowing better than to let his mouth say something caustic back. "Yes  _you_ , Dick. In fact, Wally insisted he wanted to stay with you too before Artemis reminded him he lived with her before he died. Any reason as to why they'd want to live in your messy, cramped apartment than their own homes — one, which by the way, is a spacious mansion?"

Uncertain, he stares at her steadily. "Honestly, Babs, no clue." She looks at him like he's lying and he feels exasperated now. "I swear, Barbara, I don't know. All I can say is that Jason wasn't too keen on the idea of reuniting with Bruce, which I guess, I kind of understand, especially since Tim's here and everything…"

"He's bitter like you were when Batman replaced you with another Robin?" she suggests, quirking an eyebrow.

He shrugs. "I don't know, maybe. I mean, part of me thinks I would be too. Coming back from the dead to see someone else leading the team I was suppose to; wearing my uniform, using my name; all I'm saying is that I can see why Jason would be angry."

"It's been almost half of a decade though," she reminds him quietly, "that he's been  _gone_. What else should he expect?"

Dick rubs his temples, keeping an impending migraine at bay. "I don't know. But time's all screwed up for Wally. They look older, they  _are_  older, but maybe time's messed up for Jason like it is for Wally. Maybe time doesn't feel like it's passed for them at all."

"Maybe," she frowns, her face falling delicately.

She sounds overwhelmingly unsure and his chest constricts. His gaze falls toward Tim and Bart, still heavily involved in their own discussion, and he steps back a little further with Barbara following in toll. Artemis is no where to be found, probably waiting outside the room Wally's being questioned in, and Jason's in his own separate inquiry most likely regarding his current health and mental conditions, and how on earth he managed to find Wally and Dick in the first place.

"You've got something else to tell me?" he says to her, lowly.

She perks up, no doubt focusing herself to listen for anyone within earshot. Satisfied with the lulling silence, she moves a finger to her right ear, pressing down to disconnect her com link. All pretenses seem to have fallen and she inhales a slow breath.

"Wally says he was… resurrected," she pauses, gauging Dick's expression that appears to be relatively frozen, "from a Lazarus Pit. You know, like the fountain of youth. Jason said he was too."

Dick feels like someone knocked the air right out of him, his face instantly paling.

"They claim they don't remember much. Jason said, like Wally, he woke up in a lot of pain except…" She bites her bottom lip, her face scrunching up in a tensed angle. "He woke up in his coffin. He… he dug his way out of it, Dick. Then he said he woke up in the pits and somehow found Wally and… they said they remembered you first so they took off in search of your old apartment in Blüdhaven hoping you still lived there."

The world feels like it's crashing down on him in violent waves. Cold, crisp realization douses him completely and before he can be fully consumed by the rising waters, Barbara touches his arm and pulls him back to reality.

"Dick, are you okay?"

"Yeah," he forces out unconvincingly but she doesn't pry him further. "What did Bruce say?"

"In general, nothing," she answers lamely. "He didn't protest to Jason refusing to stay at the Manor; not when your name was brought up. Martian Manhunter also offered to do a full psychological evaluation to uncover what Jason and Wally didn't remember and they both agreed but when he tried to mentally subdue Wally, Wally freaked out. They were able to restrain him relatively quickly, but his analysis was obviously inconclusive and the League decided not to run any telepathy tests on Jason in case he lashed out too."

Dick roughly rubs his chin before running a hand through his hair, letting out an exhausted sigh. "None of this adds up though. The time lapse between Jason's death and now, how their bodies managed to even make it to a Lazarus Pit — if that even exists in the first place — and why they remembered me first; it just doesn't make  _sense_."

She crosses her arms, appearing just as drained as him. "You're telling me. We ran extensive DNA tests though, and results say it's them. So maybe before we investigate this further, we should just be happy they're alive and well again." She hesitates momentarily before murmuring, "I…  _missed_  Jason so much. Wally too. But Jason… he was gone for so long."

"Yeah," Dick swallows; his suddenly mouth dry, "yeah, he was."

Before they can exchange another word, a pattern of footsteps approach them and when they turn to the source of noise, Jason and Wally, standing among several members of the Justice League, are crowded around the main quarters of the building. Tim and Bart are quick to rise to their feet, anxiety bouncing between them as Diana, Wonder Woman, steps forth first.

"The Justice League would like to welcome home the first Kid Flash and second Robin," she smiles warmly at the two boys. Dick can see Tim recoil slightly at the mention of  _his_  title and Bruce probably does too, but remains stoic, his gaze transfixed on Jason rather than Wally. "Unfortunately, however, under current circumstances you two must remain out of commission until the League can further discuss and examine your return."

Tim straightens his back a little more now.

"Until further notice, Kid Flash may reside with Tigress and Robin with Nightwing."

"Just call me Jason," the tall boy demands, his eyes flickering toward Tim, "my old title is…  _occupied_  now."

"Very well," the raven-haired Amazonian replies. "You are both allowed access to the WatchTower as well, but not without the accompaniment of Tigress and Nightwing, understood?"

Wally salutes her and building tension seems to dissipate upon his stab at levity. "Loud and clear, boss lady!" He then wraps his arm around Artemis's slim waist, and steals a glance at Dick as he says, "Let's go home, guys."

* * *

They decide it's best that Wally and Jason reunite with the rest of the Team tomorrow.

Bart, Tim, and Barbara say their goodbyes to their newly revived teammates and left in the wake of their departure is just Artemis, Dick, and their not-so-dead friends.

Before looming silence can crash into them, the archer speaks first, directed mostly to Wally. "I still have the old apartment back in Palo Alto we used to live in… I haven't lived there per say for about half a year now but… but the bed and everything is still there. We can pick up some food on the way back."

Wally beams at her. "That sounds awesome, babe. We can clear the souvenir office for Dick and—" Artemis appears slightly perturbed at his suggestion and he stops at her expression, eyebrows furrowed together. "What?"

"Wally, Dick's got his own apartment. And Jason's staying with him, remember?" she soothes him, although a mix of irritation and confusion are grating through her voice. "They've got their own place to stay."

The redhead scratches the back of his head sheepishly, grinning dimly. "Oh yeah, duh, I know that. I just figured y'know, since Dick's balcony door is broken because of me, we could let him and Jason stay with us."

"I'll fix it," assures Dick, "in fact, I think Babs already arranged an appointment with a repairman."

Jason snorts, adding, "I bet Bossman already fixed it; free of charge for his favorite son."

"But you'll be over soon, right?" Wally presses, almost sounding desperate had his voice not been filled with a light tone and accompanied by a 100-watt smile.

Dick and Artemis exchange a quick glance before the raven-haired boy nods, forcing an easy smile to his lips. "Of course, man. We'll be over first thing in the morning before we see the rest of the Team."

"Awesome," Wally grins, bear-hugging him before patting Jason hard on the shoulder and disappears into a Zeta-Tube alongside his girlfriend.

Dick blatantly ignores the peculiar shift of Wally's mood before looking at Jason expectedly. The taller boy shrugs his shoulders and follows Dick into the same Zeta-Tube, awaiting for the blinding light to consume them.

When they arrive back to Dick's apartment, his balcony's glass door is already replaced and he makes a mental note to send Bruce or Barbara a thank you card.

"You can take the bed," Dick offers quickly once they shuffle themselves in and Jason shakes his head.

"No need," he grumbles, "the couch is just fine."

"The couch is small, Jay," Dick reminds him. "I barely fit on it. You're a little bigger than me now and besides, you're my guest."

Jason considers him for a moment before agreeing eventually, "okay." And it almost seems genuine until he smirks at Dick, his lips colored with ruthless travesty. "But only because you  _insist_ , Dickie. And when you say a little bigger than you, you mean a lot, right?"

He's standing next to Dick and flexes, seeming to somehow loom over the acrobat even though he's only a few inches taller. Dick's not a small guy by any means, but he always had a more lithely built most likely rooted early on from his Haly's Circus days. He's still tall and broad and toned, but not nearly as much as Jason is now, and he vaguely wonders where his previous successor had acquired his robust body in the first place.

"Whatever you say," Dick finally replies, rolling his eyes before walking into his room — his door back on its hinges and his desk oddly organized (yeah this definitely has to be Babs' doing somehow) — and he opens up his drawers, grabbing a pair of sweatpants and an undershirt. He throws them at Jason who catches them with ease, and then takes a pillow and thin sheet from his bed. "Sorry the bed's not made. I wasn't expecting any visitors any time soon."

Jason eyes the unkempt mattress. "Have you ever made your bed without Alfred or B forcing you to?"

Dick smirks. "Guess not. Night, Jay."

He really wants to press Jason with questions about Bruce, what the hell happened all those past years he was supposedly dead, but he knows now isn't the appropriate time to. Evidently Dick's the only person he relatively trusts — or maybe just tolerates — and Dick knows better than to soil Jason's exception for him.

Without another word, he exits the room; strips down to his boxers and curls up in his couch but not before chugging a glass of water alongside a couple of pills Dinah prescribed him to acquire an adequate amount of sleep.

That night he dreams of Wally, except the speedster doesn't come back to him this time. Not really.

He's watching chrysalis' energy tear Wally's molecules and atoms apart; the redhead's bloody and screaming and when he reaches for Dick, he disappears before Dick can grab him in time. Instead, the acrobat is left with empty space and his hand covered with blood that isn't his own.

The worst day of his life collapses on him in a rush of broken pieces of the sky crashing down around him. He tries to run, to evade the large fragments of what appears to be glass, until he's caught under a shard reflecting the sky's galaxy and he wakes up in the middle of the night, sweating and panting.

His head lulls to the side as he groans out, his face feverish and clammy.

"Dick?" he hears someone call and he stares into the darkness, watching a large figure slowly advance to him. Jason's familiar face is coming within view and Dick feels himself relax.

"Jay," he croaks out, "it's okay; I'm okay. Just a bad dream."

He feels a dip in the couch's cushion when Jason takes a seat on the edge of the furniture, somehow able to avoid sitting on Dick and instead perching on the small available space given to the larger boy.

"Sounded more like a nightmare, Dick," comments Jason.

"Yeah," Dick breathes steadily, trying to subdue his nerves, "I guess it was."

"You know, I had a lot of nightmares when I was in the pit. Had to bathe in there for days."

He tries not to knit his eyebrows together or show any sign of alarm. But despite himself, he still inhales a sharp breath when Jason's cool hand finds his burning forehead and he peers upward at his pseudo-brother. Jason's staring back down at him with an unreadable expression as silvery strands of moonlight dance across his features.

"Oh?" Dick finally says.

Jason's hand drops to the side slightly, thumbing Dick's chin as he replies, "yep, mostly of me dying. Of the Joker. Sometimes of Bruce; occasionally of even you and Babs. But it wasn't too bad all the time. Sometimes, I had dreams."

Dick's body feels so heavy, probably side-effects from the sleeping pills, and he can't seem to lift his body or move any part of himself besides his lips. So he just says quietly, "yeah?"

"Yeah," the tall boy confirms. "They were of me living at the Manor again, with Bruce and Alfred. I was Robin again. At times, I'd be on missions with Bruce, other times with the Team and then sometimes, I'd have the best dream of all."

There's a sudden iciness that colors Jason's voice and Dick can feel his brother's hand around his neck now. But even with the rising anxiety rolling up his spine, his tactical training instinctively forces himself to remain relatively calm and he levelly asks, "oh yeah? What's that dream, Jay?"

"I'm killing that sick fuck who murdered me," hisses Jason, his mouth splitting into a twisted smile. "Except, I'm not killing him like he killed me. No weapons. Just my bare fucking hands. I'm choking him until he can't laugh anymore, until his beady eyes begin to bulge out of his head, and I can see his pasty face turn blue."

"Jay," Dick strangles out, suddenly feeling intense pressure around his own throat. The drowsy effects of the pills are wearing off and he's regaining control of his body. He latches onto Jason's arm, trying to pull it off but Jason's nearly draped over him now, crushing Dick with his hefty weight. "Jason, I can't  _breathe_."

"Sometimes, right before he dies, he turns into Bruce, sometimes Alfred, and then once and a while, he turns into you," Jason growls, wrapping both of his hands around Dick's throat. He yanks the shorter boy upward a little before smashing Dick's head back down onto the couch's armrest. Dick splutters out air, suddenly seeing stars and Jason's brutal snarl. "Imagine that, Dickie. Me killing my own dad, my butler, and my pretty boy brother who's too fucking occupied with missions to even attend my own fucking funeral."

Dick can feel the last of his oxygen exiting his body and he's beginning to thrash under Jason. "Jason, stop," he orders but it sounds more like a plea from his position. "I said stop!"

"What was I to you, Dick?" he smirks over him. "An annoyance; a replacement? Remember how you despised me when I took over your name; your uniform? Was I ever a brother you cared about just like you care about Tim? Or am I just fucking garbage that you wish was still six feet under the ground? Do you even give two shits that I crawled my way out of my coffin and back into your life? Do you know how it felt to wake up in it?"

The acrobat's vision is starting to blend into the darkness of his room, his eyes still fixated on Jason's fading face. He can't breathe anymore, he can't get out; help,  _help_ —

Jason leans closer to him, eye level and his breath smears across Dick's twitching mouth. "It kind of felt like this. No oxygen, death's hands wrapped around my throat, trying to pull me back. But then something gave me life, something pushed me to get out."

"Jay," he warns weakly, feeling the former Robin's lips grazing over his own.

"It was like a kiss of life, instead of death," continues the tall boy, sliding his hot mouth against Dick's and bites down hard on his predecessor's bottom lip until blood is drawn. When he pulls away, Dick's beginning to choke on his own blood. "Tell me which one you think this kiss is, Dickie."

Manic laughter erupts in the blackened room, piercing through the still air, and engulfs them fully.

Dick jolts awake, sitting upwards in a frenzied state as his heartbeat pounds against his eardrums. It's early in the morning and he brings a hand to his mouth. The coppery taste of blood is gone and his lip doesn't feel bruised or cut open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the plot thickens! See ya guys next chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

Dick exhales out shakily before gingerly rubbing his throat with a slightly trembling hand and drags himself to the guest bathroom in order to properly examine himself. All he sees is his paled reflection staring back at him but, other than that, he's relatively unmarred with no bruises around his neck or a bloody lip adorning his mouth.

He looks fine;  _normal_.

With somewhat relief, he bows over the sink and splashes cool water against his feverish face only to jerk unexpectedly when he hears a creak behind him.

"What time do you wanna see West?" Jason's hoarse voice suddenly fills his ears.

Dick eyes him through the mirror and he dries his face off with a nearby hand towel. "Soon." He says, keeping his voice steady and disinterested. "Lemme call Artemis and see if she's up."

As he traipses toward the kitchen to retrieve his phone he left beside his empty glass of water, Jason stops him. "Hey, can we talk?"

Dick quirks an eyebrow, his fingers dancing across his phone before shrugging. "Yeah sure, what's up?"

"You have a wet dream about me last night or what?" Jason asks bluntly, never the one to tiptoe around subjects. When he watches the acrobat furrow his eyebrows in confusion and flush under the weight of his question, he explains, "I kept hearing you say my name last night. I wanted to check on you but I didn't know what I was going to find."

The older boy crosses his arms across his chest, pinching the underside of his arm as he did so to ensure that he's fully awake this time.

He is.

Vaguely, he informs, "I had a nightmare."

It's Jason's turn to arch an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yeah, you… died again." he lies without hesitation.

The taller boy grimaces at the remark. "Well, I'm here in the flesh, Dickie boy, don't worry about me leaving again."

Somehow, Dick is the least worried about that.

"I know, man. So, since you're not Robin, you wanna go in your civvies clothes or suit up in one of my Nightwing suits? We're gonna see the rest of the Team today."

"Civvies," Jason replies easily. "I don't plan on being a hero anytime soon."

"Alright, normal clothes it is," smiles Dick.

* * *

Their reunion at the WatchTower occurs a little earlier than expected.

When Dick and Jason arrive initially at Artemis and Wally's old apartment, the first stop before the WatchTower, the speedster is arguing loudly with his parents.

Apparently Artemis invited them over and upon the beginning of their get-together, everything had gone relatively smooth until the Wests mention something along the lines of their son returning home.

Wally evidently wanted nothing to do with that and refused rather harshly and a heated debate quickly ensued; Dick and Jason walking in only halfway through it.

"Like hell I'd live with you again!" the redhead snaps at them.

His mother cringes. "Wally, dear please! We miss you — we thought you were  _dead_  for a year. We just want you to come back home. Even if it's just for a little bit—"

"I won't," he grates through his teeth, "you guys don't understand. You're not superheroes."

"No, we're your mother and father," his father corrects firmly. "And you're our son and we want you back home."

In a flash of yellow and red, Wally suddenly bolts toward Dick — who is now clad in his Nightwing persona attire — grabbing ahold of his arm. "Nightwing, you know where I'm coming from, don't you? They can't help me. They don't understand what me and Jason have been through. They'll never understand."

"Wally, they're your parents," Dick mutters quietly to him and he feels the grip on his arm become tighter.

The speedster stares at him coldly, a vicious look dancing in the green irises of his eyes that Dick's never seen before in all their years of friendship. "I'll talk to them later. Take me to the WatchTower  _now_. Please."

It sounds like he adds the please as a bitter afterthought and Dick feels his throat run dry, glancing at Artemis pleadingly and the blonde steps toward the Wests. "I'm so sorry… Maybe we should meet another time. Wally, he… He just got back last night and…"

"Understandable," Mrs. West smiles even if it doesn't reach her eyes. "Keep in touch, dear. We'll be waiting."

Once his parents leave, Wally pushes them toward the camouflaged Zeta-Tube he and Artemis emerged from the night prior.

They're not supposed to arrive at WatchTower for another hour, but Wally's too hasty and impatient to argue with. Admittedly, however, Dick figures he ought to be. After all, he's been dead for nearly over a year and now… well, now he isn't. And he's about to be reunited with some of his  _best_  friends — his superhero second family, in a sense — so his restlessness and anxiety are well earned.

Dick tries to not lament over how unrealistic this all seems.

He subtly pinches himself once more as they approach the transportation tube and, this time, Jason notices.

"Nervous tick you developed?" he inquires casually, although he appears relatively interested. "Or are you really a masochist?"

Dick aims and shoots for humor but ends up somewhere on the lands of awkward instead as he quips, "both, if the situation's just right."

Jason makes a strange face and steps into the transportation device without another word.

The older boy smiles in triumph at no one in particular and carries his bright grin all the way to the WatchTower.

* * *

Wally zips across the unfamiliar grounds of the secret headquarters in pure delight. It's nothing like their old home base that once appeared as actual living quarters with a kitchen and other house-commodities. Instead, the WatchTower mostly consists of sterile gray floors and walls covered in scanners, sensors, and any other kind of advanced technology you can think of. Although, admittedly, the large panels of connecting windows that overlook earth are somewhat oddly comforting in their own right.

(The addition of tables filled with home-cooked meals and snacks, streamers littered about the archways, and the painted, large 'Welcome Home' sign plastered in the main room all help too.)

Wally enthusiastically floats around all his former teammates that are spread throughout the living area in clumps of segregated groups like the Justice League officials, comprised of Barbara and Zatanna, to the younger teens like Garfield and Bart (who's dressed in his old Impulse uniform). The older speedster looks like he's bursting with pure, unadulterated mirth. With elation weaving through every pore of his skin, he's nearly glowing in happiness as he lifts M'gann in the air and twirls her around, her eyes filled with unshed tears, and then swings an arm around Conner, chewing rapidly on a slightly burnt cookie.

He's looks like a happily ever after ending, like the book's last page filled with high spirits and coated in euphoric words. When the lost pet makes it home and springs into the arms of its owner; when summer emerges from its heavy slumber and melts away winter's bitter resolve and gives birth to new possibilities.

Meanwhile, Jason just looks like the lost page edited out of the entire novel.

Dick tries not to let his stare stray toward Jason too much, but his heart twinges slightly when he finds the second Robin leaning against a wall with no one around.

He understands some of the newer members, like Jaime and Virgil, only know of Jason as his memorial statue: Cold, unfeeling, and dead (although, this version of Jason doesn't seem much different). But Dick wonders why the rest of his old team with the exception of Barbara and Raquel haven't made any moves to speak with his first successor. He stops himself from entertaining the idea that maybe its because there's an uneasy air about Jason. The rest of the team couldn't possibly feel it too, right?

"Nightwing," greets Kaldur as the team's resident leader approaches Dick.

Dick sends him a bright smile although the sides of his mouth feel a little too tight to deem it one. He knows what Kaldur wants. The Atlantean isn't here for formalities or to talk about the exciting buzz of news, of Wally and Jason's homecoming. No, he wants to discuss the gritty details, of the dangers, of the bitterness that blankets Jason's words and the blank stare hiding itself in Wally's eyes that only surfaces in quick seconds of vulnerability.

"Hey man," Dick says, his feet ready to pivot. Once Kaldur is close, but not too close so that he can slip away without struggle, he lies, "give me a sec? I've gotta talk to Robin about some family matters."

Family Matters is blatant code for Gotham Affairs; something that's always happening and routinely pulled Dick, once Jason, and now Tim away from the Team's separate missions. Kaldur can't protest if he wants to.

He lets Dick go, although Dick's pretty sure the dark-skinned boy can see through his excuse.

"Hey Timbo," he grins and Tim grimaces at the nickname.

" _Robin_ ," he corrects fiercely and Dick wants to laugh at his misplaced intensity.

Instead, he lets it slide because Tim most likely assumes (despite Jason's adamant decline) his title is up for grabs now that Jason's back taller, broader, and just as lethal as before.

Dick perches himself next to the seated boy on a misplaced couch in a cleared room. Garfield, who's also occupying the furniture, takes the hint and beelines toward the door as he openly complains about his growling stomach.

"Right. So,  _Robin_ , enjoying the party?"

"It's… fine. But I've actually been looking for you."

Great.

Dick knows some form of this conversation is inevitable; he just didn't think Tim would nosedive right into it. But he supposes it'll be better than discussing it with Kaldur. Tim doesn't know Jason and Wally like the Atlantean does and Dick's relatively grateful for that.

He tilts his head to the side, feigning modest surprise. "Oh?"

"Yeah. I've been researching and I sort of… may have maybe skimmed the current reports on them," Tim chews on his bottom lip gingerly, a nervous tick he developed over the years. "I don't mean to sound negative but I think…"

"Is this about Wally freaking out yesterday?" Dick supplies quietly, prior pretenses shattering, and he tries not to think of the speedster's earlier outburst this morning.

"His tests were inconclusive," Tim parrots Barbara's previous words from the night before. "He hasn't reacted so negatively to psychological tests like that before has he, Dick? I don't mean to pry, but if there's a chance he's even a little mentally unstable…"  _Then something could be wrong with Jason too_.

He doesn't need to say it, the implication is sharp and loud enough as it is.

For a moment the fleeting taste of blood seeps down the back of Dick's throat and a hazy image of Dream-Jason's face looms over him. But just as soon as his tangible flashback settles into him, its gone, and he's left with Tim assessing him with a stoic expression nearly identical to Bruce's himself.

He parts his lips, the coppery taste gone, in attempt to reply but—

"—Of course something's a little unstable about West, he was dead and now he's alive." Jason cuts him, smirking at the pair, and Tim stiffens upon his uninvited presence.

The youngest of the three jumps to his feet when Jason slides over the couch, taking a seat in between them, and looks pointedly at Dick as he mutters, "I'm going to find Cassie."

"That's right, Drake, run along and go play with your friends so the big boys can talk," sneers Jason.

Tim's ear redden upon the remark but before he says anything he'll surely regret, he stalks off instead. Once he's out of earshot, Dick glares at his first successor.

"Can you try to be civil with him?"

"Like you were with me when I took over the Robin mantle?"

Dick winces. "I apologized for being an asshole years ago."

"Doesn't mean you weren't one in the beginning," Jason shrugs. "Anyway, getting back to the point: C'mon, Grayson, you surely can't assume someone resurrected from the Lazarus Pit will come back completely normal."

Instead of reprimanding Jason for eavesdropping, Dick rolls his eyes and replies, "it's hard to believe something like that is even real to begin with, Jason."

The tall boy scoffs. "What's so hard to believe? You know aliens and hell, you've even witnessed goddamn  _magic_  before. On top of that, West and I are living proof it exists."

"It's just… You two can't really tell the League much about it." Dick presses in and it's Jason turn to roll his eyes.

"How many times do I have to repeat myself that we only gained semi-consciousness periodically while in the pits. When we fully woke up, we were outside a warehouse. I haven't got a clue where the pits were located, I was half fucking dead the entire time I was there."

The eldest of the two watches as irritation begins to taint Jason's features and Dick knows he's playing in a room filled with gasoline while holding a lit match in his hand.

"And fuck you if you're going to suggest I talk to Bruce about it." Jason growls next and the acrobat pretends not to feel the sudden twist against his insides.

Instead he brings a crooked smile to his lips that seem to catch the tall boy off guard temporarily. "Look, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. You and Wally have been through too much for me to pry you anymore. And you know I'm the  _last_  person that's gonna push you to talk to Bruce of all people." Jason's expression seems to soften at the sincerity etched across his words but before he can continue, a feminine voice interjects.

"Nightwing? A word, please." Barbara taps her boot impatiently against the ground beneath their feet. The taller boy is rendered unnaturally silent as Dick quickly nods and slips away from Jason; allowing the redheaded girl to lead him under an archway connecting into a desolate room.

"Getting along with Jason perfectly fine, I see," Barbara comments once they're alone.

He thinks fleetingly of telling her about his dream last night; how he couldn't breathe and tasted death, but decides against it.

Instead, he just grins, "he's gotta few rough patches to smooth out, but it's a work in progress."

Barbara seems like she doesn't believe a thing he says. Still her words, a shift of subject, strides forward out of her ruby-red (is she wearing makeup?) lips. "Batman thinks he's got a lead."

The smile on his face flickers slightly. "A lead?"

"You remember his dear old friend, Selina? Well she's got a sniff of something and it involves the al Ghuls. Bruce is investigating it as we speak."

"Let me guess," grimaces Dick, pulling at the ends of his gloved hand, "he doesn't need any help."

She sighs, "What do you think?" But he doesn't need to think though, and she fiddles with the ends of her red hair as she adds in a mild afterthought, "can you really blame him?"

"No," admits Dick. "Honestly, part of me thinks he was a little bit relieved about my hiatus from the Team and when I pursued being an officer instead. I've dodged bullets before, but I wasn't always so lucky with mutants, telekinesis, and extraterrestrial technology."

"Don't be silly," Barbara reprimands, frowning prettily. "He was proud of you when you were on the Team, and he was proud of you when you announced your goal of becoming an officer. Which, by the way, reminds me, how's that going?"

Dick's sheepish expression says it all. "Oh, well, um I kind of took an… indefinite leave of absence?"

There's a certain strain to Barbara's face and Dick knows how she really feels, but at the same time, she's giving him the opportunity to explain himself so he takes it and runs with it. "I know it's only been a month, but with the Wally and Jason thing, and the fact that Jason can't do anything without the League wanting me to babysit him, I just figured…"

He's babbling on like an idiot so Barbara groans purposefully and stops him with a cutting inquiry, "so does this mean you're going to be Nightwing again?"

"Uh," his mouth suddenly tastes stale, "I… I don't know."

Because he really doesn't. Because the last time he wore this uniform he watched his peers and friends save the crumbling world while his own crashed down around him.

"Well you should consider it," she tells him.

He wants to smile at the suggestion but—

"Because Wally wants to be Kid Flash again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to reply to last chapter's reviews. It's been a hectic week between spring semester starting and work! Anyway, this is definitely more of a filler chapter (I think, at least) but I'm almost halfway done with the next chapter! Thanks for reading and stay tuned!


	4. Chapter 4

When Dick enters Black Canary's rather mundane-looking office compared to the rest of the WatchTower's rooms, he remembers years back when he first spoke with Dinah one-on-one.

He remembers speaking with her about his repressed fears and feelings of inadequacy regarding his involvement as Bruce's partner after a telepathic training session had gone wrong; he remembers his unearthed anxiety of becoming Batman and the loneliness that correlates with it.

Now it seems like those kind of problems are so far away. It almost makes him wish he was that young again with that set of rather manageable worries compared to the troubles he's plagued with now.

"So Nightwing, what brings you here? Perhaps to discuss training methods regarding Kid Flash?"

"Actually, I came discuss the possibility of renewing my prescription."

Confident and naturally sultry, the blonde leans against her tidy desk and he forces his stare not to linger at her thighs or cleavage.  "Prescription? You mean the sleeping pills I gave you a few days ago?"

"Yeah," he replies evenly.

"They're not to be taken routinely, Nightwing," she advises him with a stern gaze. "Only during spurts of unmanageable insomnia or when high anxiety and stress are prevalent."

His eyes twitch slightly behind his mask, desiring to avert her stare, but he maintains his unwavering eye contact as he assures her, "I know. It's just… with the whole Wally and Jason thing…"

"You've got a lot on your plate?" she offers knowingly and when he doesn't answer, her shoulders slump slightly as the tight lines in her face relax.

"I don't take them every night," he eventually tells her instead.

He's lying and his mind is screaming in protest but he ignores the ringing in his ears and allows a crooked smile to stretch across his lips. In truth, he's been taking them for the past four days since Wally and Jason's arrival and during the nights that he almost doesn't, he lays awake on his couch restless, wincing and jolting whenever a creak or sound bounces across his apartment. He's not sure what his body is waiting for, maybe to wake up from this surreal dream or for Jason to finally off him like Dream-Jason seems so thirsty for, but he can't  _sleep_. Not without help.

Black Canary studies him with half-lidded eyes, sharp and precise just like everything else about her, and for a split second, he thinks she sees right through him.

But then she moves to the cabinets of her office, filled with first-aid medical kits to foreign extraterrestrial medicine, and fumbles through them until she tosses him another capsule that rattles heavily with pills. "This is for the next week," she informs, her silky voice colored with a borderline captious tone, "I suspect you'll 'catch' up on your sleep by then. If you need any more than this, I advise you to make an appointment with a licensed doctor."

"I'm sure this is all I'll need," he promises and tucks the capsule away into his attire. When he pivots with the intent to leave, he stops last minute, and glances toward her. "Ah, but before I go… any advice on team members being overly reluctant with training?"

A grin slides onto her attractive face.

* * *

Wally is visibly pissed.

He rolls his neck as he flexes his shoulders and then clasps his hands together, threads his fingers, and cracks his knuckles as he pushes his palms forward. There's a vein that's throbbing visibly in his neck and after he finishes his routine stretching, he unhooks his hands and scrubs one roughly through his vibrant orange hair.

It looks like if he pulls any harder he'll scalp himself.

"Listen," Dick begins, "if you wanna do this another time…"

"I don't," barks the speedster with fierce venom. He clamps his mouth shut momentarily, probably forcing down the array of ill-painted curses that are trying to spill out, and eventually sighs in verbal frustration. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I just… I thought they'd be happy, y'know?"

Dick will never forget the hurt that weaves its way through Wally's words in this very moment. The way his best friend looks so crestfallen and vulnerable.

He moves his gaze away temporarily. "It's not like that they're  _not_  happy, dude. They're thrilled you wanna rejoin the Team."

"So why are they benching me?" Wally spits out in a childish whine.

"They're not benching you," assures Dick, looking back at his friend again. Wally's ears are still bright red, although his face seems less stretched with anger. "They just think you need some practice before you get back on the team fulltime. Before the whole Reach invasion, you and Artemis hadn't worked with us for years, remember? Whether you wanna admit it or not, you need some practice to hone in on your skills again. This is just the first step."

There's a strange feeling that burrows painfully in his chest when he recalls how adamant Wally once was about not being affiliated with the Team or the Justice League. Everyone, Kaldur especially, is conflicted with the sudden shift of Wally's interests but there's really no reason  _not_ to refuse the once-hero.

Wally scoffs haughtily, tearing the dark-haired boy from his thoughts. "I don't need practice."

Dick rolls his eyes, his patience beginning to run thin. "You sound just like Superboy did when Black Canary first started our one-on-one combat training. Remember how she kicked his ass too?"

"Are you implying you're gonna kick mine?" Wally huffs and Dick can't help the smirk that pins itself against his face.

"With or without your powers," he challenges lightly, attempting a jab at some sort of levity between them. When Wally mirrors his teasing smile, he thinks he bridges the gap somewhat. "I'll kick your ass either way."

"No powers, fine," agrees Wally, slinking into a fighting stance. "But when I win, I better skip this month of No-Powers bullshit training and go straight to obstacles with Bart."

"Deal," Dick finalizes Wally's terms. The red light above them flicks to a bright neon green and a low, echoing buzz dictates them to begin.

Even without his excelled speed, Wally's always been a relatively even match for Dick. While not nearly as flexible as the acrobat, he's just as agile and light on his feet and is able to calculate and roughly predict incoming offensive attacks.

But Dick's still a sharper thinker, more balanced and aligned, and his blows are always offensive and his blocks bend easily into counterattacks. Wally's also been out of practice for a year and then some — if you count the amount of time between him retiring to pursue college and his brief participation in the Reach incident too — and Dick uses his friend's absence to his advantage.

With a resounding thud, Wally's slammed onto his back with Dick crouching over him, his gloved hand resting over a pressure point on Wally's shoulder. The dark-haired boy smirks above his defeated peer, wiping the sweat forming on his creased brow with his free hand.

"Welcome to the No-Powers club," he chuckles; attempting a light joke, "your one month club membership starts now."

Wally doesn't even crack a grin; the sides of his mouth thin and straight.

Instead he inhales a galling breath and roughly pushes Dick's hand off his shoulder before bolting upright onto his feet.

" _Fuck this_ ," he snarls, adjusts his stance, and then bounds toward Dick top speed.

He's a whirl of color when he rapidly advances but the acrobat isn't a stranger to sparring him with his powers either. Just like Barry the current Flash, when Wally's speed is exponentially accelerated, his close combat skills weaken immensely.

Dick flips to the side, narrowly evading Wally's strike, but keeps close and blocks his attacks. He tries to maintain the cramped distance between them consistent and soon Wally's swift movements and jabs are beginning to backfire on him. He punches wherever Dick dodges, then pivots to where he thinks Dick's going to land and throws another blow, and either hits himself from his chaotic footwork or skids and staggers.

Eventually Dick manages to trip him, sweeping his leg underneath Wally's feet, and the speedster collides into the floor.

"Way to be a sore loser!" Dick scolds him, his chest heaving as he regains his breath.

The redhead's always been competitive but this is on an entirely different level. He pulls himself up, sways slightly, and catches Dick's gaze.

He's trembling with repressed fury, the green of his eyes covered by his widened pupils, and he charges forth again. Except this time Dick can't avoid it because within a blink of an eye, Wally's lunging at him and punches him so hard Dick can hear his neck crack as his head violently snaps back.

When he crashes onto the floor, Wally is over him with clenched fists. It feels like Dick's brain is pounding painfully against his skull but he fights through the haze and dodges a hard punch. He hears the ground slightly crumble next to him and with the last bit of his strength and quick thinking, he wraps his legs around Wally's torso and rolls onto his upper back before lifting Wally off him with his legs and slams the redhead down with all his force.

It appears to work because the redhead is gasping out in pain, seemingly snapped out of his dangerously enraged trance.

"What the hell dude?!" Dick yells at Wally's spluttering form.

When Wally looks at him again his eyes are back to normal and his skin flushes to such a pale color, his freckles are barely visible. "I-I'm sorry," he stutters out fearfully, "I don't… I was just so angry about having to train more and… I'm sorry Dick. I didn't mean to hurt you. I…  _fuck_. I'm so fucking sorry."

Dick cautiously offers him a hand and Wally shakily takes it, allowing his dark-haired peer to pull him to his feet. His face is peppered with sweat and shame and he looks pointedly away from his friend, his eyes transfixed forward when Dick speaks again.

"Hey man, it's… it's okay." But is it really? Dick can't stop to think about it. "I was being an asshole with some of the things I said… I can see why you were so pissed."

"You're not… Are you going to tell them?"

It's clear Wally's referring to the Justice League and to his old Team; to Kaldur. All intensely apprehensive about his desire to be involved and associated with them again.

The right answer should be easy, but it's not. It's tangling up Dick's thoughts and he doesn't have the time to mull over it so he says what he knows Wally wants to hear, "no, of course not, dude. You're just frustrated and overwhelmed with training, I totally get it."

Wally finally looks at him again, a faint smile etched across his flushed face. "I promise I'll stay whelmed next time."

Dick wants to laugh but his body hurts too much.

* * *

Artemis is waiting outside the locker room when Dick exits. Upon his arrival, the blonde crosses her arms and spreads her feet a part a little as if it to visibly display herself holding her own ground.

"So?" she says as he approaches her. "How'd it go?"

"It went well," he lies fleetingly, shifting his feet in attempt to maneuver around her.

Unrelenting, she shoots him a fixed look with a raised eyebrow and shuffles to parrot his steps. Standing in front of him, she inquires steadily, "did something happen during your training with Wally?"

"What? No, of course not. Why would you even think that?"

"Your cheek is bruised," she observes.

He absentmindedly brings a hand to cup the side of his swollen face. It stings upon the contact. "Accident. I practically walked into it, to be honest."

The blonde pulls her arms closer to her chest, her expression tight and suspicious. "You wanna tell me the truth, Grayson?"

"What do you want me to say?" he counters sharply, irritation beginning to scrap its way across his tone. "He's obviously rusty and I kicked his ass. If you're wondering about him going on missions, he's got a long way to go until that actually happens. Sorry to burst your guys' dynamic duo bubble."

Upon his slightly cutting remark, Artemis narrows her eyes at him but lets him pass her as he strides ahead. "It's not that, asshole," she snaps crisply, "I'm worried about why he wants to go on missions in the first place."

He stops walking.

Dick hears her inhale a sharp breath while he simultaneously holds his own. When he doesn't reply, she says in a softer voice that drops down to a whisper, "Dick, I rejoined this team to fight for justice in memory of Wally. But why… Why is Wally rejoining? You remember how adamant he was to retire. He wanted to retire more than me. He always did. Why the sudden change of heart?"

"You haven't talked to him about this?"

"Well sort of," she sighs lowly, "I assumed it was because he thought the Light or Reach may still be active but when I mentioned that neither of the previous members of the Light were working together or connected between separate cases, he insisted they just  _had_  to be. And he's going to find out what they're planning and he's going to stop them by any means necessary."

"Have you talked to the Flash?"

She shrugs half-heartedly. "Briefly. But neither of us have much to say. Wally tells him the same things he's been saying to me too. Dick… I'm worried about him. I lost him once and I can't lose him again. I don't know what I'd do if the League took him away but he just… He just sounds so…  _vengeful_  now."

"They killed him, Artemis," he blurts out before he can stop himself. When she winces slightly at the bluntness of his words, he immediately retracts and tries to soften the blow, adding quickly, "But I wouldn't worry about him. He was fine during practice."

"Really?" she asks and he sees her expression lighten; their gazes locking for a brief moment.

There's no hesitation or waver in his voice when he lies, "yeah, of course."

* * *

"You look like shit," comments Jason as Dick enters the main room of the tower's headquarters. The acrobat blatantly ignores him and he leisurely takes the miniature marble knight in front of him, sliding it across the chessboard and drawls, "checkmate."

Jaime curses in Spanish under his breath before sending Jason a sheepish grin, "congratulations,  _mi oponente desafiante_."

As the younger boy begins to gather the board and its respectable pieces, Jason rises to his feet and quickly outpaces Dick. The elder of the two looks at him grimly, not even attempting to mask his annoyance, and Jason takes a step back but sticks close.

"Everything alright, Dickie? Did West knock your head around a bit too much?"

"Why don't you wanna rejoin the Team?" Dick dives straight to the point.

Jason blinks. "Um?" he says inadequately.

The acrobat rolls his eyes behind his mask.

"I mean," Jason tries again, "my position is… filled."

"That's not all."

"No," admits Jason, "it's not."

"Then what else?"

They're approaching the Zeta-Tubes, which is slightly strange and off kilter. Usually Dick opts to stick around the WatchTower to socialize with the members that aren't currently occupied with a mission. It's a bit too early to go home, the sun halfway through the sky, but Jason doesn't seem to protest.

"My ideology is different than yours, than your Team's, than Bruce's…" he answers vaguely when they casually stroll out of the teleportation technology disguised as a phone booth.

Dick pauses, letting Jason's words settle in his ears. "Has it always been?" When the taller boy shakes his head, Dick presses in more, "why did it change?"

"Because I was dead and now I'm not," Jason says levelly, rummaging through his pants' pockets before fishing out a cigarette. He stops to light it and ignores the disapproving look Dick shoots him. "Why? West giving you any problems?"

"You're hiding something from me," Dick states, not questions.

A ruthless smirk tugs Jason's lips upwards as he brings the cigarette to his mouth. A wispy trail of smoke weaves into the chilly, tense atmosphere around them and Dick watches it dissipate into thin air.

"Dead men tell no tales," Jason just says cryptically.

No, Dick supposes, they don't. But Jason is just as alive as he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know things are a bit confusing/vague right now but I promise as the story progresses all your questions will be answered. Also thanks for all the comments, kudos, and bookmarks!


	5. Chapter 5

Tim pours his predecessor a cup of steaming green tea while Dick takes a seat across from the younger boy in the notably sparse study room. It looks like it hasn't been touched in weeks, dust collecting on the dark oak tables and matching chairs and bookcases.

"Neither of you have been in here for a while," states Dick offhandedly and his successor simply nods in response before pushing a filled mug toward him.

"We've been preoccupied."

Dick clicks his tongue disinterestedly. "I see."

He feels his patience running thin and his chest stirs in impending frustration as the younger boy gazes at him, assessing and reassessing, just like Bruce always does. He knows Tim called him to the Manor for a particular reason — one he's admittedly curious about considering the young boy chose to privately speak to him exactly when Bruce isn't available, galaxies away on intergalactic League business.

"Dick," Tim begins, sweeping the rest of their regular formalities aside, "have you done any research on the Lazarus Pit?"

No. He's been too engrossed in current events, like Wally's disquieting anger that occasionally spills over onto their training and Dream-Jason tasting like blood and something startlingly sweet. The older boy eases a sheepish grin on his face, effortlessly sculpting his façade for the day.

"Well, I figured that's why I've got you and Babs, Tim."

The current Robin studies him with a steel gaze. "Has Bruce asked for your assistance?"

"Nope," Dick replies earnestly, "what about you?"

"No," grimaces Tim. "That's why Barbara and I've been conducting our own investigation. Nothing big, just some minor researching."

The vagueness of his answer makes Dick slightly more alert, instinctively associating the ambiguity with something more alarming. "You wanna dance with me some more, Tim? Or are you gonna get straight to the point?"

"Nothing good ever comes out of a Lazarus Pit, Dick," the young Robin states. "If that's where Wally and Jason both say they came from, then I firmly believe they're dangerous."

"Dangerous?" repeats Dick, clearly unconvinced. "I think that's a bit harsh."

"Dangerous to you specifically," informs Tim stonily but the creases forming across the sides of his mouth and on his forehead reveal his worry. When Dick tilts his head to the side, parting his mouth in protest, the younger boy hurriedly presses forth, "Wally's been acting…  _different_  lately. Something just doesn't feel right with him. There's no denying that. Jason too."

Dick purses his lips together momentarily before replying, "the pit probably has some ill effects; it most likely just scrambled their emotions a little bit."

"Stop trying to make excuses for them," Tim sounds exasperated now. "Dick, I know you feel incredibly guilty over not being there when Jason died and I know Wally's your best friend; I know how much you love him and how difficult it was to lose him. But I need to know if anything strange has been occurring with either of them. I asked Artemis and she said no, but I don't believe her. Trust me, I understand where she's coming from, I really do. We all know if something is 'wrong' with them, the League will haul them off with evaluations but I won't do that, Dick. I won't tell anyone, I  _promise_."

Except Dick knows Tim isn't promising him anything; in fact, the young hero is outright lying to him. Everyone knows this Robin plays exactly by the rules and regulations, adheres himself to lawful conduct, and moves and strikes with logic rather than emotion.

He pretends to consider Tim's words for a moment before meeting his gaze again. "I'll let you know if anything strange happens. Is this all you wanted to speak about? I've got a few errands to run and I should get going."

"Dick, please—" Tim tries to start but the eldest interjects quickly.

"I told you nothing's wrong, Tim," he says, offering the current Robin a reassuring smile to accompany his words. When Tim doesn't return it; doesn't even crack a grin, he still continues unaffected, "I promise I'll contact you if anything weird happens, alright? Just don't worry about it; tell Barb that too. I've got everything under control. Anyway, I've really got to go. I'll talk to you soon. Thanks for inviting me over; we've got to do this more often."

And without further protest from his counterpart, Dick begins to walk out of the room with a placid countenance that he knows the younger boy can easily see through.

In the wake of his departure, Tim sighs dejectedly over their untouched tea.

* * *

The errands Dick mentions earlier are cut rather short when Wally calls him, asking him to meet up at a coffee shop near his apartment in Blüdhaven.

He knows he really ought to buy some groceries so Jason isn't forced to live on Cheetos and Fruity Pebbles, but the invitation seems harmless and a nice distraction from his prior conversation with Tim and he sends Jason a quick message of his current whereabouts and offers the younger man the choice to join them at the cafe if he'd like to.

Except when Dick arrives near the entrance of the initial store, Wally's quickly yanking him in the opposite direction with a sly smile that's making Dick's stomach curl.

"Wally," he starts with his eyebrows furrowed and the redhead waves at him dismissively. Only when their true destination comes within view, a few blocks away from the coffee shop, does Dick let out an exasperated groan. "You've  _got_  to be kidding me."

Wally smirks at him. "C'mon dude, I just figured we could finally celebrate me not being dead and everything."

The redhead's words slap Dick across the face and the younger of the two masks his wince, murmuring as he eyes the establishment before them, "I'm not twenty-one yet."

"So? The League gave you a fake years ago for undercover missions, didn't they?" shrugs Wally, nudging his friend with his elbow. "Just one drink, please? I'll even buy the first round."

"I told Jason to meet us at the coffee shop," Dick says before shaking his head as he sighs in defeat, "so only  _one_  drink, alright? For you, I mean. I'm not drinking."

"You're no fun," whines Wally but relents because he still  _sort of_ gets his way and pulls Dick into the bar.

It's a hole-in-the-wall, dimly lit with an older crowd scattered about the building. The staff seems younger and attractive enough to not deem it sleazy though, and Dick reluctantly takes a seat at a high-top table while Wally orders a drink with a cute bartender.

With an auburn-hued drink in hand, the redhead slides into the stool adjacent from Dick and flashes his friend a bright smile. "Cool place, huh? Artemis and I used to stop by here if we were near Blüdhaven. Super old school bar."

"Oh, yeah. It's pretty cool," Dick grins weakly because as much as he doesn't want to be here, at least Wally looks like he's having a fairly good time.

"Sorry for the last minute plans," Wally breezily apologizes before taking a long sip of his drink. It's already almost gone. "I know the bar's kinda lame now, but in like an hour you'll see a younger crowd around our age come in."

"Dude, I told Jason we'd meet him at the bookstore like twenty minutes ago," Dick groans at the mere mention of staying in the bar longer and when the redhead doesn't appear even the slightest bit concerned, he adds, "he can't even come  _in_  here, he's only eighteen."

"He's a big boy, he can take care of himself," the speedster sharply insists. "Besides, why does he always have to tag along? He doesn't need a babysitter."

"He's my family," reasons Dick, although he inwardly thinks he shouldn't have to explain himself in the first place.

"You know you don't owe him anything, right?" Wally mutters so lowly that Dick almost doesn't hear him.

The acrobat frowns. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Wally gives him a pointed look. "He doesn't need you, man. You're probably just pissing him off by making him come to the WatchTower or to coffee shops or wherever the hell else you take him."

"He's never told me otherwise," Dick insists and Wally's hand is suddenly gripping his arm tight.

"Dick, c'mon dude, let's be real here. You and Jason have never gotten along, even when you stopped being angry with him for taking over your Robin mantle. It sucks he died on terms like that with you, it really does. But just because he's back now doesn't mean you have to try to do some dumb family bonding with him to make up for lost time."

He tries not to visibly wince at the harshness that sharpens the edges of Wally's words. He wants to remind the speedster this isn't how he talks about his family — isn't how he  _used_  to anyway, but what's the point? The more Dick tries to deny it, the more blatant the truth lingers right in front of his face: Wally and Jason came back a little wrong, a little off. But he supposes if you're going to cheat death, you're going to suffer some sort of minor consequences too.

He pretends to think this is the only aftermath they'll all endure but he knows better. He always knows better.

"Listen, he's a good kid, don't get me wrong. If it wasn't for him… I don't even know if I would've found your apartment but you should lay off him." Wally continues despite Dick's evident lack of response. "You're so caught up with him,  _we_  barely hang out anymore."

"We've been sparring together every day since you volunteered to rejoin the Team," Dick tries but Wally cuts in.

"That's not hanging out," he corrects sharply, "that's training." His hand travels from Dick's upper arm to the top of the brunet's hand, his callused fingertips brushing fleetingly over Dick's knuckles.

The younger boy almost slides his hand back in surprise and his breath catches in his throat, eyes fixated on Wally's freckled hand lying casually on top of his own.

"I wish we were young again," Wally carries on wistfully, pressing his palm down harder. "Everything was easier back then. Before I went to college, before I moved in with Artemis; we practically saw each other every day you didn't have to patrol with Bruce or I wasn't with my uncle."

Dick swallows thickly, holding his deadpan expression steadily while his chest begins to constrict. He wants so badly to pull away from Wally's heated touch, a vague image of Artemis's worried face flittering amidst his thoughts and an unsettling feeling runs a chill up his spine — the same one he feels when something isn't quite right.

"As lame as it sounds, I even miss when I'd stay the night at the Manor sometimes. Remember how Alfred was always down for movie nights with us? He made the best popcorn. I remember Bruce never liked sleepovers though."

"Sleepovers?" the raven-haired boy repeats, quirking an eyebrow.

Wally furrows his own together. "Well, yeah…? Why? Didn't we have them?"

Dick feels the pit of his stomach curl at the genuine perplexity painted across Wally's facial features and tone. He fights down the lump of anxiety lodged in the base of his throat, swallowing the stirring apprehensive feeling that's beginning to make his chest uncomfortably constrict.

Where are these false memories coming from?

Wally blinks as Dick internally struggles, quickly suggesting in order to subdue his friend's unraveling nerves, "maybe it wasn't with you?"

"Yeah," Dick hopes, "yeah, that's probably it."

"Sorry man," Wally shrugs rather unapologetically, "I keep doing this with Artemis too. Like, I totally think the glasses and plates go in a different cabinet. It's been annoying her for days. Actually—"

"Starting the fun without me?"

Jason's abrupt clipped tone unravels the tension building between them and when Dick peers upward, Jason's looking back down at him while holding a thick plastic bag filled with a few books. The tall boy grins stiffly at his counterparts before taking a seat aside of the Dick, placing the bag on the wooden table next to Wally's empty glass and the redhead's hand returns discretely to his side.

"How'd you get in here?" Dick asks Jason, his voice rolling into a whisper as a cocktail waitress walks by.

Jason smirks. "Same way you did. Doesn't take a genius to get a fake; just a hefty amount of money for a good one." He eyes the rocks glass belonging to the redhead for a split moment before inquiring with slight indifference, "what're you drinking, West?"

"Glenlivet," Wally answers coolly.

"Never took you for a scotch type of guy," Jason comments, quirking an eyebrow.

The redhead strains a grin to his face and slides off the barstool, grabbing the glass as he stands. "I'm getting another one if either of you two would like a drink."

Dick and Jason decline his offer and he slumps off, chatting it up with the pretty bartender from earlier.

"Jay, you shouldn't be in here. What if someone realizes your ID is a fake?"

"What? You really think people actually question me? I'm the one with a five o'clock shadow. You, on the other hand, look and sound like your balls are about to drop any day now. Besides," he adds lowly, "I'm not the  _only_  one with a fake. You know B wouldn't approve of this, Dickie."

"How'd you even find us?" Dick shifts the subject, his temples aching under a harboring headache looming over him. He doesn't even  _want_  to know how Jason managed to get his hands on a fake ID; although, it doesn't really surprise Dick either. Jason always managed to bend the law even as Robin.

"Saw you two," answers the aforementioned boy, "I was heading to the bookstore a few blocks over when I saw you and West in front of this bar. When you said you were getting coffee, I didn't think you meant Irish coffee."

Dick flushes. "Wally sort of… er,  _suggested_  we go to the bar instead. I told him I'd go for one drink, well watch him drink one at least, and then I'd head back to the coffee shop to find you."

"Ah, well, sorry to interrupt your date."

"Shut up," the older boy rolls his eyes and Jason's looking at him with a crooked smile. "We can head out now if you want."

"What about West?" Jason questions, arching an eyebrow.

The acrobat shrugs half-heartedly. "I'll text Artemis or Babs to meet Wally down here if need be. I'm sure he just wants some company."

"I think he's found some," the younger boy muses, eying the bartender who's jotting her chest out just a little too much to be deemed her natural posture.

Dick chuckles at the observation, fishing out his phone and sends a quick text to his team members not currently preoccupied with a mission. When he gets a prompt response back, he pushes it down into his pants pocket and starts to slide off his chair. "Well, I just got him better company. M'gann and Raquel are on their way. We can probably leave now."

Jason quickly agrees and lets Dick handle telling Wally they're heading back to his apartment. Either the straight scotch is already doing its trick or Wally's just relieved others are coming to join him; he surprisingly lets the two of them leave without protest, waving after them as they depart.

The distance back to the apartment complex is only twenty minutes and the silence lulling between them is a little too unsettling for Dick, so he questions out of the blue, "What books did you buy?"

"A few Charles Dickens novels."

Dick smiles. "You were always such a book nerd."

"You like swinging on monkey bars and mounting poles, I like reading books," shrugs Jason.

"You probably loved the library Bruce has in the Manor. I know Tim does," the older boy mumbles, ignoring Jason's snide remark. "You know you should—"

"I should what? Talk literature analogies with Bruce?" supplies Jason with a sneer and the mood suddenly shifts between them. "Fat fucking chance on that, Dickie-Bird."

"You've got to talk to him sometime, Jason," Dick persists; always prying a little further and burrowing in a little more than he knows he should.

The taller boy leers dangerously at him, like Jason's warning him not to prod any farther. "No."

Dick's anger and frustration begin to spill over into his expression, the lines of his face tightening as he grates out, "well why the hell not? I know I said I'm not gonna pressure you to talk to him but whether you like it or not, he's  _still_  your father and you're gonna have to face him eventually."

Jason grabs a handful of Dick's collar and pulls him in while the older of the two instinctively digs into a pressure point located within Jason's palm in attempt to disengage his grip. His grasp loosens slightly but he's still holding on tightly and drags Dick closer. They're at a deadlock, both unwilling to let the other go, and their eyes connect in a heated gaze.

Jason's so  _close_  now, the closest they've physically been since he's gotten back, Dick can feel Jason's smoky breath ghosting across his own lips, sinking into the cracks and crevices of his pores. "Things are… things are  _different_  now."

Dick's heartbeat spikes slightly but not in the same way it had with Wally moments prior.

He tries not to focus in on the faded freckles splashed against the bridge of Jason's nose and among his cheeks; tries not to look at the leftover scar cutting across one of the broad boy's eyebrows.

Instead he breathes in a baited breath, pushes his disconcerting thoughts down his throat, and forces out a steady reply, "things will keep perpetually changing, Jay. It doesn't mean you've got to turn your back on the past; it's what helps shape you in the present and future. You're a part of this family. You'll always be."

It's like Dick's words stir something inside of Jason, like they sting and churn within him, and his hand slips from Dick's shirt and down to the side of his hip. He doesn't move though, and in turn Dick doesn't loosen his grip on his dangling hand, letting their fluctuating breaths intermingle and seep across each other's skin.

It feels like the silence of the night is swallowing them whole until Jason speaks again. This time in a quiet, resigned voice.

"You haven't changed much, have you, Dick? You're the only consistent thing… the only consistent person I know." He lets out a bitter chuckle that cuts through the air and dries his mouth. "Out of everything and everyone, you're still the same person: the Golden Boy, the perfect brother with a heart open and aching for anyone to fill it."

And Dick thinks,  _that's not true. That's not true at all_.

Because Barbara's the same, always so empowering and clever, and Bruce is the same too, stoic but still the best father figure Dick's ever met besides his own dad. Kaldur's still precise in everything he does, Conner's hotheaded and compassionate; M'gann's tangled in empathy and power — everyone's still the  _same_. The only ones that seem to have changed are Wally and Jason.

Dick's hand that's still holding onto Jason's pressure point moves upward, resting on Jason's thick wrist. "Let's just… let's go home, okay?"

Jason glances at their hands, his expression unreadable, but nods once in reluctant agreement.

The rest of the walk home is silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long update guys! This chapter wasn't even in the original drafts of the story but I figured you'd (maybe) enjoy some Wally/Dick Jason/Dick interaction. Next chapter should be up fairly soon!


	6. Chapter 6

The diner is dingy and lit with cheap fluorescent lights that hold a low buzzing noise high in the ceiling. Dishes and cups clink together in a waitress's buss-tub as she strolls nonchalantly through the cramped area in search of dirty plates or utensils; the rattling noise bouncing across the seated bodies.

Dick watches as Bruce takes a paper napkin and subtly wipes the rim of a coffee cup while Dick's plate of sunny-side up eggs bleeding all over his undercooked bacon sits untouched in front of him.

They sit in muddled silence for a while as sounds from other costumers overtake the restaurant.

Eventually, Bruce speaks first and inquires, "how is training Wally?"

"It's just like old times," Dick lies easily. "He's getting slow in his old age though."

"And Jason? How's he?"

Dick pokes his food with his fork, averting his superior's gaze. "Interesting."

"Interesting," repeats the older man, his tone slightly bemused.

"We don't talk about you, if that's what you're wondering," Dick replies lowly, his thoughts temporarily flittering to the rather austere conversation he had with Jason a few days ago. "I've tried but… nothing. I don't want to push him."

"Understandable."

"Yeah." The conversation lulls again and despite himself, Dick lets out a frustrated sigh and his fork clatters against the plate when he lets it slide against his fingers. He meets Bruce's steady stare and questions, "has Selina told you anything about the Lazarus Pit?"

"I'm assuming Barbara and Tim have spoken to you briefly about my investigation?"

"An abbreviated version," answers Dick, his voice fixed and pointed. "They also informed me you're not looking for any assistance."

"Are you interested in becoming Nightwing full time again, Dick?" Bruce suggests in an indecipherable tone.

The younger boy pauses, tactically thinking his superior's question over, before replying placidly, "to investigate the Lazarus Pit for Jason and Wally's sakes, yes."

Bruce's expression is unreadable. As always. "I see. Well, as I've informed both Barbara and Tim, I will acquire your help with this case when necessary. In the meantime…"

"Call me anytime," interjects Dick, inwardly cringing at how eager he sounds. "I could use some practice in case my involvement is needed."

"Very well." Bruce agrees. "Well, if you can excuse me, Dick, I have a plane to catch in thirty minutes. Expect a call soon and tell Jason I say hello."

Dick slides off the booth he's been perched upon for the past thirty minutes and pulls at the end of his shirt until the creases are out and he looks presentable again. When he looks to Bruce, the tall man is taking one last sip of coffee before placing the mug back onto the counter and leaves a crisp twenty dollar bill behind.

* * *

The air is brisk tonight, a breeze running through the grimy streets of Gotham as its charcoal skyscrapers push the sky away. Fall's teeth is bearing down on this side of the hemisphere, leisurely scrapping its frigid tips over the heather-tinted town in anticipation for even cooler weather certain to ensue within the next following months. The atmosphere itself is starless as always; cheap artificial lights from the city and pale silvery light from the night's moon dimming them.

There's a rush of released epinephrine coursing disorderly through Dick's veins as he leaps from one desolate building top to the other; wind roaring wildly against his ears.

It's been awhile since he's taken his Nightwing persona out on a mission and it's almost thrilling in an overly addicted adrenaline-junkie kind of a way.

Clicking a hidden knob on his wrist, a hologram map is projected in front of him once he stops momentarily. He's pleased to discover he's encroaching upon his assigned coordinates faster than he initially thought he would.

It's been two days since his meeting with Bruce and earlier this particular night, after returning to his apartment with Jason, Bruce had contacted him with a vague assignment: To appraise, or snoop around, a warehouse suspected of being main headquarters or a possible safe house for top drug dealers and foreign substance handlers. A meager job, but Tim and Barbara are already occupied with missions from Batman and the Team and he supposes its also so Bruce can keep some sort of watch over him after their cryptic discussion. Because whether he wants to admit it or not, they both know the more Dick becomes involved with Bruce's assignments, the less he can keep from the older man.

His stomach twists in anticipation as his fingers trace the edge of an unlocked window, gingerly sliding it open before dropping in.

To his relief — albeit, slight letdown — it appears that the vast building is currently unoccupied. However, he remains in the shadows as a precaution while he moves about in search of clues or evidence.

He rounds the corner of the first empty room, then the second, the third, and when he reaches the beginning of the forth, his heart abruptly plummets to his feet.

He clicks on his com link and steps backward as he whispers, "Nightwing to base. I'm currently at the assigned coordinates and have found a possible case of human trafficking. Going to assist this civilian and call paramedics but I need someone on standby in case I'm not alone."

There's crackling on the receiving end: a telltale warning that he should hesitate; that he should wait, but as always, he doesn't.

Instead he turns another notch on his wrist and scans the area. His indicators, as well as his sharpened vision, confirm there's no one else besides the victim in the connecting room and he swallows down a hitched breath before carefully treading forward.

There's a boy in the middle of the empty room collapsed against the ground with his hands bound behind his back with zip-ties and traces of dark red blood scattered around him. He has to be no older than fourteen, maybe fifteen, lying face down on the cracked and unsteady floor of the room. He's whimpering, wincing and curling into himself even more when he hears Dick approach him.

"Hey, don't worry," soothes Dick, resting a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder as he crouches down to level himself with the young stranger. "I'm going to get you out of here, okay? Just relax. What's your name, buddy?"

When the boy refuses to respond, Dick bites down a sigh and instead says evenly, "okay. I understand. Can you move?" The boy nods his head. "Alright, I'm going to turn you over. Tell me if I'm hurting you in any way. This'll be quick, I swear. I've just gotta assess your injuries, okay?"

The lack of reply must be a go ahead so when he gingerly rolls the boy onto his side, he cuffs the teen's cheek with one hand and leans closer to inspect the injured civilian and—

"What?" he splutters out, shock barreling into him and he nearly loses his footing.

It's Jason. Except it's not. This boy is younger, skinnier, shorter; he's not the tall, bulky man Dick left behind in his apartment hours ago.

The boy — Jason? — stares wide-eyed up at Dick before rolling his vision to gaze in front of him. He does the eye motion one more time and Dick follows his stare. It's into the darkness of another room linked to theirs with an open archway. Dick forces down the fear that's threatening to trickle upwards into his raw throat as it collects in the hollow base of his stomach.

_Keep calm._

Then, backed against where two walls of the room connect, a soft whimper emits. It's feminine and it's pained and  _fuck_  it sounds familiar. Dick moves even though he thinks he probably shouldn't, and advances to the other victim.

When he's feet away, he can't hold back the anguished gasp that rips violently past his mouth. Now he's running, even if she isn't too far, desperately bridging the gap between them as he slides to his knees.

"Barbara?!"

He wants to scream.

"Dick," she whimpers softly to him. There's a thin blanket draped over her bloodied naked body; a dark maroon color splashed against one of her cheeks. "Dick, I…  _I can't feel my legs_."

Blood is beginning to pool around her limp body and she's looking at him like the world is ending.

Maybe it is.

Before he can even open his mouth, he feels something sharp and steel collide against the side of his head and he's forcibly thrown to the side and his body skids away from her. He sees stars, rapidly blinking them away, and once he finds his footing and balance again, he's met with another blow to the head.

He's on his back, temples pounding, and when he peers up into the ceiling's dim fluorescent light, he sees a brutal smile stretched from cheek to cheek. The Joker.

The twisted man peers down at Dick, eyes ablaze with madness, and he starts to cackle with glee. His body shakes inhumanely from his laughter, appearing as if maybe he was gagging instead, but the roar of giggles bouncing across the warehouse's walls is irrefutable.

Without any hesitation or another word, he swings the crowbar down again. And again. And again.

Dick's eyes are squeezed shut when he feels a hand weave through his hair, pulling his face upwards slightly. Hot breath billows across his skin damp from his sweat and blood, and the Joker's following words cling to him like fresh asphalt sticks to newly paved ground.

"Maybe your funeral will be better than mine."

At the distinguishable change of voice, Dick pries his eyes open and he's suddenly looking at Jason.

" _No_ ," he pants out in agony.

The Joker is gone and the crowbar stained with Dick's blood and cracked bones is now held loosely in Jason's hands.

The tall boy grins manically over Dick and barks out in with a vicious, delighted tone, "having fun yet?"

Disgusted and in denial, Dick looks away. "You're not… you're over  _there_. You're hurt."

"You mean this pathetic excuse for a sidekick?" questions Jason, his boots clinking against the floor and Dick recoils when he hears the iron lever collide against skin and bones that aren't his own. A pained groan echoes across the floor and Jason clicks his tongue in distaste. "He would've never made a good Robin. He's nothing like you, Dick."

Jason's toying with him with words and actions that are sure to get a rise out of the eldest, Dick knows this, but he can't help but glance toward the other boy in the connecting room. He's closer than he thinks, and when he catches Jason's gaze, Jason rolls the boy over and Dick's suddenly looking at Tim.

Tim isn't looking back though. His eyes are glazed over, staring into nothing, and his breaths are labored and broken. He's dying, just like Barbara who's bleeding out on the floor a few feet away.

"Don't worry," hums Jason, striding back to the first Robin. "Batman thrives on tragedy, doesn't he? He likes picking up the ran over stray barely breathing; he likes taking 'em home, making them believe they'll actually live, that maybe they'll be loved, and then he watches the light go out in their eyes before he goes off and finds another half-dead mutt."

Jason idly shakes the blood off from his crowbar, rotating his wrist as he swings it against the air. "Well, it's been a blast hanging out with you, Dickie. I hope you have a lot more fun in hell than I did."

He lifts the iron lever high in the air with both hands, and slices it downward in one fluid motion, cracking it on top of Dick's head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, my internet has been a little dodgey the past couple of days which explains my lack of responses to your kind reviews. I really, really appreciate them! But this has been the only window of opportunity where my wifi has properly connected to my comp so I'm trying to post this chapter in case my internet flakes on me again. I'll reply to all your comments soon. Just wanna say thanks for the support, kudos, and bookmarks so far! See you guys next chapter. Should be up soon.


	7. Chapter 7

"Dick? Dick! C'mon man…"

The aforementioned boy feels a cold hand slap against his cheek and he forces his heavy eyelids open, blinking upwards into the cloudy haze that's his vision. As his splotched sight starts to clear, he finds himself looking into Jason's flushed face, and when he parts his lips to speak he feels his body lurch forward instead and he vomits all over the floor.

"Are you fucking serious?!" Jason screeches, barely evading the contents of Dick's stomach.

He grumbles unpleasant words to himself, shuffling off and when he comes back, the nauseating smell of cleaning products fills Dick's nostrils, and the older boy outwardly groans in displeasure at the scent of stringent artificial citrus.

Jason glares at him, threatening, "if you puke again, I swear to fucking god I'll make you eat it."

"What…" Dick swallows with difficulty, his chapped lips splitting more as he does.

Jason seems to understand his current dilemma and with a roll of the eyes, leaves again and returns with a tall glass of water for him. The tall boy then brings the cup to Dick's mouth and lets him drink until water is running messily down his neck. Jason mutters something about his predecessor being a child and places the cup aside on the living's room coffee table, waiting for Dick to recover.

Finally, Dick rasps out, "what happened?"

"Another nightmare," Jason replies quietly. "You were screaming so I went to check on you but I… You weren't waking up."

"I was screaming?"

For the first time since he's been back, Jason looks mildly perturbed and uncomfortable. He scratches the nape of his neck, consciously averting Dick's gaze as he answers, "um, yeah… You were shouting Barbara's name and Tim's and… mine."

"Jason…"

"Listen," Jason says, intervening. "I'm gonna take you to your bed and then clean this shit up, alright?"

"I'll clean it up," Dick mutters and Jason scowls.

"Yeah? You gonna cover it up with more of your vomit or what?" He lets out a deep, exasperated sigh and Dick can see plain irritation written across his face. "Just let me do this, Dick."

"What's with the change of heart?" Dick tries for a joke but it comes out more like an accusation and he wishes he just swallowed his words instead.

Jason still isn't looking at him. "You really wanna know, Dickface? Fine. You weren't screaming my name the same way you were screaming Tim's and Barbara's. Their names… You sounded like you were in pain, scared; a little pathetic, to be honest. With mine you… you sounded like I was ripping your skin off."

Dick wants nothing more than to shrivel up and curl into himself and disappear. But all he can do instead is peer dumbly up at Jason when the broad boy sweeps his damp bangs back like his mother used to when he was sick with the flu.

"Just lemme do this just this once, Dickwad. Then I'll be snide and bitter again, okay?"

Dick wants to respond, but his skin is clammy all over and he's certain he's complete deadweight when Jason lifts him up from the couch. He leans heavily against the tall boy, slowly lumbering toward his bedroom with the steady assistance from Jason.

Jason in turn looks slightly frustrated at the slow pace they're walking but doesn't complain, most likely assuming forcing a little more momentum could possibly lead to Dick straining himself and result in spewing the contents within his stomach out all over again. Eventually and gently, Dick's sprawled across his mattress and he furrows his eyebrows together in concern when he feels Jason's cool, callused hands on the hem of his shirt.

Sensing Dick's discomfort, Jason draws back a little to look at him. "You're sweating like a pig. I've gotta change your clothes."

The low gurgling noise from the back of Dick's throat is enough of a verbal approval for Jason because he smoothly peels off Dick's undershirt and sweatpants. As he rummages through Dick's drawers, pulling out clean clothes, he swivels around in jostling surprise when the older boy murmurs something quietly to him.

"What?" he asks.

Dick peers at him through a curtain of his hair, lethargically rolling his hips upwards in one languid motion and tugs his boxers, also damp from his perspiration, down. He's too weak to take them completely off though, stopping halfway against his thighs.

Jason's suddenly looking anywhere that isn't near Dick.

"Um?" He gulps visibly, "I'll get some new boxers too, ya freak…"

Dick hazy gaze meets Jason's fixated one as the taller boy begins to dress Dick. He maintains their intense stare, barely blinking, as his fingers trail up and down his predecessor's slightly clammy body. In turn, Dick tries not to flex or curl his stomach when Jason's fingertips idly dance across his skin.

When Jason manages to situate him in his bed and hydrate him enough, Dick passes out again.

The entire rest of the day rolls by in a slow, disorienting fashion.

Jason wakes him up in hour intervals to ensure he drinks enough water and, at particular points, to consume some soup broth. In his weakened, unhinged state, he can do nothing but comply and listen indolently as Jason gripes about having to take care of his 'pitiful self'.

At points, he's wondering if he's really off somewhere in an unknown Gotham warehouse dying. He can't tell if he's dreaming or if he's living, unable to decipher between the dipped streams of his own unconsciousness and the actual reality hovering above him. Wherever he is now seems like a perfect blend of both, misconstruing and contorting what he thinks is real and what is not.

" _I could kill you right now, you know_ ," Jason tells him at one point while Dick dreams. He looks like death, all vicious and menacing, as he looms over Dick and the acrobat isn't sure if Jason's reaching out to either coddle or strangle him.

But Jason's broad form fades away before he can find out.

Then Barbara and Tim eventually come to visit him with medicine directly from the Batcave and he's certain he's alive, even if Jason is absent from the room when they're present.

When they leave, they seem to have hesitantly instilled the antibiotics within Jason's seemingly capable hands because he's rattling the bottle around as he reads its directions when he rotates back in Dick's bedroom.

Dick's world clouds again and he swears Jason's hand is too gentle on his forehead and the tall boy's lips are against his own. This  _has_  to be a dream, he decides, but when he blinks, the medicine that was once within Jason's possession is now placed astray on his dresser.

* * *

When his head clears a little more and his fever diminishes the next day, Kaldur stops by.

They both know why the Team's operating leader is there. It's to talk about Wally; however, Kaldur prods about Dick's health first.

Dick's so tired of talking by now, but like the good guy he is, he still obliges.

"Just a fever," he dispels Kaldur's worried words. "Barb said something about a combination of the season change and me training too hard with Wally."

He offers the subject to the Atlantean on a silver platter, allowing his leader to sway the conversation to whichever direction he damn well pleases. Like the noble man he is though, Kaldur touches upon an easy issue and throws Dick a bone.

"Wally and Artemis send you their condolences."

"Yeah," grins the dark-haired boy, "Jason said Wally's been texting my phone like every two hours. Dude's still a neurotic nutcase."

"I've decided to assign Robin to combat training with Kid Flash for the remainder of the month."

Dick tries not to take the abrupt adjustment to heart, silently reminding himself this is most likely for the best. Still, he can't help but pry forth. "Nightwing's not a good enough mentor?"

"For the others, he is more than adequate," Kaldur informs. "For Kid Flash, Nightwing appears to aggravate him more."

"Oh." Dick says dully. He intended on keeping his and Wally's training sessions discreet and from what he can tell up until this point, they were. Has Wally possibly let them slip?

Kaldur answers, "I kept my distance upon your request, Dick, but I monitored Wally's health throughout your spars. His heart rate and blood pressure skyrocketed each session."

As does Wally's anger but Dick always manages to talk him down. That counts for something right?

By the look in the Atlantean's eyes, he supposes no, no it does not. "Look, Dick, I know Wally's your best friend and you, by any means necessary, want to keep him safe but that should never be at the cost of your own health."

"That's not why you're assigning Tim to him," accuses Dick.  _Because Tim has no loyalty to Wally, because he's already wary and suspicious of him._

Kaldur considers his words for a moment and then replies, "no, I suppose it is not. But this is final. If you'd like to appeal, you, myself, Batgirl, Miss Martian, and Superboy may all discuss these matters on a different day." He hesitates, adding, "Does Jason's stance on joining the Team remain the same?"

"Yeah, he's still no skin off your back."  _Not like me; not like Wally._

It comes out harsher than intended, but Dick can't take it back. His jaw locks at a furious angle, his teeth grating together, and Kaldur decides it's time to leave. The dark-skinned boy pats Dick's shoulder, wishing him a speedy recovery and departs without another word; leaving Dick to stare blankly up at his popcorn ceiling as the previous conversation reverberates over him again and again.

When Jason eventually comes in with his routinely filled glass of water, Dick's still in the same position. The tall boy sets the cup aside and mutters something about stepping outside to smoke a cigarette, letting the silence of the room consume Dick fully once again.

He eyes the glass of water and fumbles for it, disregarding the medicine Tim gave him, and rummages through his nearby dresser instead. He takes out the capsule Dinah gave him last week and without hesitation, he tips the orange bottle over and swallows down the unprescribed amount of pills that roll into his palm.

He doesn't dream at all that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this short chapter worth the wait? (Definitely not) But at least things are starting to happen??? Also I'll be out of town the next two weeks (spring break!!!) so my infrequent updating may vary even more. Thanks for all the support guys!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really suck at replying to all your awesome feedback/comments guys, I'm super sorry :( Anyway, here's another installment to the story — hope you enjoy it!

Morning light breaks through the room's slightly parted shutters and persistently beckons Dick's eyes open. As he begins wake, his bleary vision slowly correcting itself, he feels Jason suddenly grasp onto the side of his face and yank on his hair sharply as a pocket flashlight shines against his blue irises.

"Jason?" Dick pants out in jagged, confused breaths. His bones ache and his chest still feels heavy while twinges of pain crawl up his body as he's jolted awake. "What—"

"Who gave you these pills?" growls Jason, withdrawing his flashlight and now shaking an orange carton at him.

"Black Canary," he answers hoarsely, "to help me sleep. What's wrong?"

Jason eyes the capsule before looking back at Dick. "How many did you take before you fell asleep?"

"Two," he lies and Jason pulls harder on his hair, "fuck, okay, maybe three or four. Five tops. "

"Directions say to take two."

"Yeah, I know," he grits his teeth, "but I was having these weird dreams and the more I took, the less I dreamt."

"You're poisoning yourself, Dick," Jason hisses out before letting go. "How idiotic can you be? You could've killed yourself."

Dick glares at him, pushing himself upward to sit on the edge of his mattress. "Okay, so I'm an idiot. We've already established that. Now what's the problem?"

"You didn't wake up since Kaldur left yesterday," snaps the younger boy and Dick quickly calculates the time lapse, glancing at the alarm clock next to his bed. He's been out for at least fourteen hours.

Well fuck.

"I almost had to call Barbara for help. You know they would've killed me if you died — even if it was your own damn fault."

Dick scrubs a hand against his face before sighing. "Well, thanks for the concern, Jay."

Jason scoffs. "I'm flushing these down the crapper. Wanna try to OD one more time? See if you actually die this time?"

"I didn't try to overdose," corrects Dick and earns himself a visible eye roll from Jason.

"I know you were pretty upset over not training with your boyfriend anymore, but I didn't think you'd be  _this_  dramatic about it."

Dick feels his stomach churn upon the reminder that he isn't sparring with Wally anymore and that Tim, of all people, is instead.

Jason frowns, gauging his brother's expression, before muttering, "don't tell me you're really that pissed about not training West."

He's not. Not really, at least.

It's just all the miniscule inconsistencies — all of them are starting to pile up, to build. Most of them are harmless, however, like Wally's previous mention of mixing up where the utensils and plates go in his apartment but then there's his temper. It really shouldn't be alarming, because underneath his accelerated speed ability, he's still a hormonal young adult, but Dick's always had a quicker fuse and Wally's always been the relatively levelheaded comedian and this newfound rage that boils beneath the speedster's skin is unsettling sometimes.

And then there's that aching feeling that… that Wally implies there's something  _more_  than what truly lies between him and Dick, and those overtones hold greater weight to Dick than he'd like to admit. Because it's not like he's never entertained the idea before in their younger years but… Why the sudden shift of interest now?

He needs to find out before Tim does, that's for damn sure.

A distinct buzz breaks him from his thoughts and he glances to his side.  _Speaking of the devil…_

"Drake?" Jason offers, his sharp eyes scanning over Dick's phone before the older boy picks it up.

Tim Drake  
Coming over in a few. Sorry for the short notice. Call if you're busy/if it's a bad time

Dick peers up at Jason who still appears royally pissed off and shrugs to himself. If Jason was in a better mood, he'd probably reconsider Tim's visit but since the tall boy is already slightly irritated, he figures he might as well let Tim stop by now instead of potentially ruining a moment during some other time where Jason might actually be in a fairly decent mood.

"Tim's coming over," he announces, grinning as the lines around Jason's mouth deepen.

But before he can even protest or crack a sour response, Tim's already knocking on Dick's door.

As usual, the current Robin appears a little tired with dark circles around his eyes and Dick wonders if the kid will always look like he's perpetually exhausted and sun-deprived for the rest of his life. Not that Dick has much room to talk, seeing as he rarely sees the daylight unless it's from behind the WatchTower's windows or the glass panels of his own apartment.

"Tim, that's two times this week," Dick smiles, referring to the youngest boy's second appearance in his apartment, "glad to know I've just got to be deathly ill for you to come visit your big brother."

"Deathly ill is a bit of an overstatement, wouldn't you say?" Tim raises an eyebrow and shuffles in when Dick steps aside. His eyes sweep around the living area before falling on Jason and his lips twitch into a crooked smile. "Hey Jason."

Jason grunts out a hello and flops onto the nearest armchair, folding his arms across his chest. Dick follows in suit, taking a seat on the couch and Tim perches upon the empty end of the furniture.

Dick tries to swallow down the apprehension twisting in the base of his throat, momentarily struggling to keep his right foot from tapping anxiously on the floorboards beneath him. Admittedly, his mind is racing; raking his brain to conjure up the reason behind Tim's short-noticed visit but he thinks it's got to be relatively trivial seeing as the young Robin didn't opt to speak to him in private like last time.

"So um," the young boy begins a bit awkwardly, scratching the nape of his neck as he averts the heavy gazes both Jason and Dick have on him. "There's been a bit of an… issue with the Team. Nothing we can't handle," he hastily adds when Dick's body tenses immediately, "nothing alarming."

"But?" urges Dick, not entirely convinced to relax upon Tim's assurance.

The current Robin sighs and looks entirely too worn and old to be a fourteen year old kid. "But we're all just a bit tied up currently. Batgirl's assigned to a mission regarding Queen Bee and Lagoon Boy just recently informed us today that Atlantis may have had a breach in their lab and urged Aqualad to investigate it just in case we've got another Starro bio-technology problem on our hands."

"Get to the point already, Drake," Jason suddenly groans, saying what Dick really wants to and Tim flushes a little bit at his unintentional rambling.

"Batman is tied up with… other affairs and intergalactic League business so Gotham's going to be periodically unattended to for a few nights of the next upcoming weeks…"

It takes a few moments to sink in before Dick's eyes widen slightly. " _Oh_ ," he only says at first.

"He said you offered a few days ago," Tim forges on a bit pink in the face, "to patrol, I mean. And, well, I thought it'd be, y'know, cool or something to have you back."

"How precious," drawls Jason, smirking at the pair, "nothing quite warms the heart more than a Bat family reunion, huh?"

The younger boy pointedly refuses to meet Jason's gaze and instead suggests in a rather hushed tone, "Alfred's always up at strange hours like the rest of us, y'know."

Jason's eyes narrow at the implication.

"If you've got something to say then spit it out, Drake," he prods hoarsely.

Tim brings himself to stare back at Jason with a fixed look. "You know he misses you," he promptly states, "and I was just about to merely suggest that maybe you could pay him a visit when Dick's on patrol."

"Huh, is that so? Well, I'm real touched Bruce thinks he needs another babysitter to look after me."

"That's not what I'm saying and you know it," the younger boy hisses through gritted teeth.

Jason scoffs at that, snapping, "I know exactly what you're saying, shrimp. All Bruce wants to do it monitor me like I'm some goddamn wild animal."

"That's not—" Tim attempts to argue but Dick intervenes, cutting across both of them before the heated conversation rises to even warmer levels.

"I'll let you know my decision as soon as possible, Tim," he says, shifting the subject and stands quickly to his feet.

He rests a firm hand on the youngest boy's stiff shoulder and Tim blinks suddenly, breaking eye contact with Jason to peer upward at Dick. "Oh, alright…" he reluctantly agrees but adds, "Batman needs your answer soon, though. In case we need to make other arrangements."

"Understandable, Tim, thanks for coming by." Dick says with an easy smile even if they all know how forced it is. "I'll call you in a bit, alright?"

Tim nods and Dick let's his weary gaze momentarily wander to his side.

If Jason has anything else to say, he stops at the harsh look Dick has painted across his features and remains promptly sprawled against the chair as the current Robin pivots to leave. Dick follows, seeing him off in a weak attempt to patch up the tension tangled between the three boys.

Once to the door closes behind the young teen, the acrobat snaps his head in Jason's direction; his face crossed between exasperated and pissed as he walks back to the apartment's entertainment area.

"Dude…"

Jason scowls. He already knows what Dick's about to say but still asks, " _what_?"

Dick runs a hand through his hair, slumping back onto the couch. "You've got to cut Tim some slack. It was just a suggestion, Jay."

"Yeah well it was a pretty fucking shitty one." Jason sneers dangerously. He looks like a wild animal backed against a wall, teeth barred and ready to strike.

And Dick knows better by now, knows that he should back off; to let the situation diffuse itself on Jason's own time,  _but_  — "Alfred really does miss you, Jay. So does Bruce. And Tim… the kid's really trying for some sort of relationship with you."

"Trying," Jason barks out in a rueful laugh. "You should know by now trying isn't exactly awarded in the Wayne household. You either do or you don't; none of that trying bullshit."

"Come on," frowns Dick, "you know that's not true."

"Trying is exactly what got me killed," Jason growls and Dick feels himself wince. The tall boy is on the edge of his seat, hands balled into fists pressed roughly against the armrest, deeply sinking the fabric in.

He looks like he's ready to strike and Dick's not sure if he's prepared this time to stop him.

"Always trying to be you, trying to be a good son," he grates in between heavy breaths, his body beginning to tense with suppressed fury, "that's what killed me."

His words are quiet but undeniably jarring and Dick struggles to keep his gaze steady. "Jason—"

"What's the point of me going back? So I can see the dust collected in my room? Look at all the pictures of me before I died?"

Oh.

Dick's never thought of the situation that way; in fact, he never really got past the silent desire for Jason and Bruce to reconcile. As Jason's words echo across the room, Dick sort of feels like the ground beneath him is sinking. Like he's standing two feet tall and shrinking while Jason's twenty feet above him. He thinks back to the few times he urged the younger boy to talk to their mentor, their father, and feels like an asshole.  _Of course_  Jason doesn't want to talk to Bruce. Of course he's angry and bitter and probably wants to break everything in sight when Tim's around.

It's not because he's been replaced, because Tim's in his uniform and in his place on the Team and beside Bruce, it's because he died and now everyone's moved on and expects him to do the same; to catch up with the rotating world when, for nearly a half a decade, time and everything in between stood still for Jason. And now he's just supposed to accept this distorted version of reality?

The elder of the two leans over, maneuvering around the coffee table and places an unwarranted hand on Jason's arm. It's a gamble on how Jason will react to his touch but Dick thinks back to the night of their walk home and how he felt his brother's pulse stabilize under his palm and fingers. He hopes, if anything, it's worth a shot.

In return, Jason doesn't recoil upon Dick's touch but doesn't necessarily lean into or regard it either.

"Being Robin and living in the Manor… It was… Those were the best years of my life," he eventually admits quietly, dropping his gaze to the floor. "And…"

"You'd like to keep it like that," Dick finishes and Jason nods once in confirmation.

"Going back is just a reminder that everything changed. That I died," the younger boy spits out bitterly, like the acidic afterthought is stinging his tongue. "That there's a new Robin."

Dick feels his heart ache at the underlying implication, his chest suddenly tight. "Jason, you know you'll always have the option; the choice to work with Bruce again."

"I don't want to," Jason says, shaking his head. "Back then I did. I… I loved being Robin, but I couldn't be Robin now. Not anymore." He pauses, lifting a hand to rub his neck before lifting his eyes to meet Dick's. "I'm sorry."

The acrobat quirks an eyebrow and the younger boy presses. "It seems like you really want to work with Bruce again. I'd consider Drake's offer."

He's twisting the subject and Dick knows this. Fleeting thoughts of Wally's own anger come to mind and he tries not to compare it with Jason's. Wally's is all over the place, wild and unfocused, but Jason's is different. It's almost liked it's controlled for the most part. Until he lets it slip through the cracks of his words, his expression, and then it settles into his entire being and nearly radiates off him.

Tim's warning from a few days ago resonates within his brain, the word ' _dangerous_ ' in particular repeating over and over agin.

He doesn't dwell too much on it,  _he can't_ , before replying with a smile, "I'll call Bruce right now."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still alive!

It's a particularly calm day.

The sun is beating down on Dick's back as he shuts his car door with the side of his hip before he begins to make his way back to his apartment with a few grocery bags in hand. He's almost to his section of the complex when an intricate pattern of beeps emits from his pocket and he stops immediately, eyebrows furrowing together.

It's a signal he, Tim, Alfred, Bruce, and Barbara had coded into their individual personal phones when someone was calling while in uniform in need of immediate assistance or in distress.

He doesn't even make it to his apartment door before sliding the bags in his hands gently down to the floor and digs quickly into his jeans' pocket, his breath hitching when Tim's number flashes before his eyes.

"Hello?" he answers immediately only for Tim to sharply cut him off.

"Nightwing." There's a certain twinge of urgency that strains across the tremor of his voice and it jolts Dick in his place. "I need you to meet me in Gotham."

"What's the current situation?" Dick inquires steadily as worry starts to collect in his chest. He strides forward and begins to fumble with his door handle as his groceries lay feet away, forgotten.

"I'll be on the rooftop near 5th and Shadow Avenue. Hurry."

The phone call ends.

It doesn't take long for the acrobat to find his successor. Tim's at the exact coordinates he gave Dick but something feels off when the older boy, clad in his Nightwing attire, jumps onto the flattened top of the building.

Tim's not alone, his shoulders are squared, and standing adjacent from him is Jason.

The air is thick around them and it appears as if they're in an intense standoff, which doesn't visibly look like much with Jason wearing his civvies clothing and Tim in his Robin uniform but still notably at least a head and a half shorter than his opposing counterpart.

Still, Dick approaches the disconcerting situation with caution.

"Everything okay here?" he asks in a level tone and the tension remains heavy amidst them.

"I found Todd in the alleyway down there," Tim nods to the streets below the boys before eyeing the flashing neon lights of the temporarily parked ambulance. "With the man that's being taken the hospital now. Someone slammed the back of the victim's head continuously onto the cement and he had a seizure from the blunt, repeated force."

"Someone?" Dick quirks an eyebrow and Jason grunts aside of him.

The tallest boy catches his gaze. "He means me. He thinks I hurt that guy."

"Killed," corrects Tim stoically. "It'd take nothing short of a miracle for him to recover from that sort of head injury. And I found you standing in front of him."

"I didn't do it, you sick fuck!" Jason snarls sharply. "I found him first and then your scrawny ass dropped in a few minutes too late. If it was  _me_  patrolling I would've been there the minute the guy was attacked—"

"—you patrolling in Gotham? Don't make me laugh, Todd. Why are you even here in the first place?"

"Your boss asked me to fucking meet with him!"

"Meet him?" Tim questions, clearly skeptical and suspicious. "Why would he want to meet with you?"

"Beats me. He just sent a limousine for me but shit's too fucking proper so I decided to walk. Maybe he wants to give me back the old gig. I mean, I  _was_  a much better Robin."

Things are quickly spiraling out of control and if weren't for the piercing sirens echoing through the city's already polluted and bustling atmosphere, their harsh argument might've been unintentionally overheard by passing pedestrians.

Dick attempts to intervene before the heated situation becomes even more unmanageable and commands hoarsely, "both of you need to stand down  _now_  and that's an order."

The fury crawling up their bodies seem to block his demand out, intentional or not, and Tim's cutting words slice through the air. "A better Robin, huh? That's a lot of talk coming from a guy who got himself killed on the job."

"Oh was that supposed be an insult?" growls Jason with a cruel smirk. "You could take some pointers from Dickie-Bird here. He's famous for those cheeky one-liners. Then again, you'll never quite match up to him and whether you wanna admit it or not, you know you'll never match up to me either. I was always stronger, taller, and faster — I would've kicked your ass at your age. Not to mention I was also  _far_  more perceptive than to pin a murder on some passerby on the street."

"That man looked absolutely terrified of you!"

Jason shakes his head; a strange smile splitting his lips apart. "He was convulsing when we both found him. He wasn't looking at anyone in particular, Robin."

"When I saw you two, the entire situation didn't feel right. There was a look in his eye that I've never  _seen_  before." Tim insists fiercely and Jason looks like he's biting back a bemused, bitter laugh.

They only break eye contact when Dick interferes again. "I told you two to stand down. Jason, no matter how uncomfortable you feel, you should've taken the limousine the entire way to the Manor. And Robin, Batman has taught you better than to immediately jump to conclusions—"

"I know what and what not to do, Nightwing!" Tim snaps at him abruptly. "Batman told me to follow my instincts and I know when something doesn't feel right. Jason did something to that guy; I  _know_  it."

"Some sidekick Batman's got now," Jason mutters dryly to himself before looking back to the youngest of the three. "Kid, I'm not exactly sure what sick game you're playing, but to even insinuate I hurt that guy just to make yourself look better…"

"Hey, hey," Dick sharply interjects before Tim can shoot back a scathing remark, stepping in between both of his successors with his hands raised. "Let's take a breather. Remember we're all on the same team here, okay?"

"Dick, you're not getting it," the youngest boy exhales desperately and all Dick can do is look at him because Tim never lets slip of their real names while on patrol; never sounds so desperate and frantic. "You've got to listen to me before you wake up. You're not telling me everything and you're missing the bigger picture. You're missing all of it."

Tim's words wash over him like a violent tidal wave and he feels like he's barely keeping his head above the swirling waters.

"Before I wake up?" he repeats bewildered. "Tim—" But its too late and his world is crumbling beneath his very feet, cracking and shattering.

The building abruptly gives way and he plunges into complete darkness.

A phone call jolts Dick awake before he hits the bottom of wherever he was falling in his dream and he aimlessly gropes for his cellphone, not even bothering to read the caller ID in his hazy, disorientated state, and answers the incoming call.

"'Lo?" he mumbles listlessly as he scrubs his unoccupied hand through his hair, palming one eye in attempt to rub the exhaustion away.

It doesn't work, but Bart's unexpected voice does.

"Hey man!" he says in a rapid fashion like usual. "Just reporting back to you."

"Reporting?" Dick says, beginning to rack his brain for whatever tests he needed from Bart. Truth be told, he hadn't talked to the kid much since Wally and Jason's revival aside from questioning the young speedster about Wally's unexpected resurrection and sporadically bumping into each other at the WatchTower after that.

"Yeah, you know, any alterations to my memory since Wally's been back?"

Oh. He'd forgotten he requested Bart to track his memory because Wally, according to the young hero, was very much dead in the future only for a different reason concerning Blue Beetle.

With Blue Beetle's subsequent change of destiny and the unforeseen restoration of Wally, Dick's been hoping that Bart's memories would eventually accommodate to the drastic change of history. It's a long shot of a theory, considering Jaime had altered his own destructive fate a year back and Bart had yet to mention anything, but it's worth a try.

"Sorry dude, nothing's changed that I can tell. I kept a journal before I left my own time era to travel back to here and I've gone through it a few times but… nothing's out of the ordinary."

"Yeah I figured," sighs Dick.

"I can still report back to you," Bart offers. "And I'm sorry it took so long, I just haven't seen you at the WatchTower lately so I got your number from Tim and…"

"It's fine," the older boy insists, "it was a dodgy theory anyway. And I've been meaning to visit, just hadn't had the time. I hope Tim's not upstaging me in combat training."

It's a casual statement but with the intent to dig further than he'd hope Bart could figure out.

"Tim? Combat training?" Bart asks instead of taking the bait.

"Well, yeah," Dick frowns. "Kaldur informed me of the switch when I was sick."

"Oh. I knew there was a switch, but I didn't think it was initially with Tim," the speedster replies vaguely and now Dick's head is swimming.

So does this mean Wally  _isn't_  training with Tim?

"Huh, that would've been cool. Not to say that means Artemis isn't a good choice either—"

The balloon swelling in Dick's stomach deflates immediately upon the name.

So it's Artemis now?

Another question is pushed toward the back of his mind.

"—but Tim would've maybe been a little redundant to Wally though, since you guys both have the same formal training." Bart continues to rant on. "Which by the way, I heard that you're gonna patrol Gotham as Nightwing again?"

"Um, yeah but listen, Bart, I've got to—"

"That's totally crash," the redhead prattles on and on, "I mean, I know you're still on a hiatus from the Team but to hear you're back in action is, like, really awesome and—"

It takes Dick another twelve minutes to disengage himself from the rather one-sided conversation and politely hang up the phone.

* * *

The night begins as the young vigilante initially predicts: relatively boring with a few minor robberies and one domestic dispute but there's a notable absence of the true darkness that tangles itself in the cracks and crevices of the city.

He takes it as a personal victory, Batman and Robin's perpetual intervention on the streets possibly lowering the crime rate. Well, pettier crimes at least.

Dick takes the normal routes Tim previously mapped out for him, stopping at one particular point near the end of his patrol when something catches his eye.

There's a dimly lit alleyway a few feet away with a dark liquid sprayed high against one of its walls.

Without hesitation Dick drops down in one fluid motion, landing lightly on his feet.

The moon is full tonight, illuminating the charcoal street with a translucent silvery glow, and the crime scene before him is ugly with blood splattered against the narrow alleyway.

It doesn't look like the victim put up much of a fight, possibly ambushed, and Dick quickly examines the lone, battered body.

There is no life behind the eyes of the man as he stares blankly into nothingness, slumped against a grimy brick wall with a precise stab wound to the thigh and a gash against his lower region. He didn't have much — if any — chance at all, clearly killed by the hands of a skilled offender.

But what unsettles Dick the most isn't the experienced incision placed right above the man's groin, but the dried blood clinging to the victim's neck. It's in the shape of a large hand — but without enough defined details of a real handprint, which means the murderer must've been wearing a glove to ensure no traces or fingerprints were left behind.

Whoever killed this man could've easily let him bleed out, possibly even just gone right for the heart, but they took the pleasure in choking the man to death instead. By the position of the hand, they were facing him too, watching the light fade from his bulging eyes.

"Nightwing to Robin," Dick finally radios in after inspecting the scene enough.

"Everything okay?" comes Tim's voice a beat after.

"Most of the patrol has been relatively quiet. I'm sending you some images though; found a deceased victim of a possible hate crime, premeditated murder, or something more. Definitely not your usual murder scene." He brings a hand to his mask, clicking on a scanner, and asks, "you got them yet? I'm going to tip off the cops soon so they can clean up the scene."

"Yes," Tim answers, "I'll try to run a facial recognition analysis if the police reports hit a dead end. Report back to me when you're finished with your patrol so I can—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dick cuts in before jumping up and grabbing onto the edge of a fire escape, flipping himself onto its railing before climbing back onto the rooftop from which he first dropped down from. "Don't tell me you're going to finish the patrol tonight."

There's a pause and then, "um… I'm not finishing the patrol tonight?"

"I thought Batgirl was scheduled to."

"Currently occupied with a Queen Bee mission, she's wreaking havoc in Paraguay."

Dick frowns. "It's a school night, Robin. There's no way I can let you finish the patrol in good conscience. I'll just extend mine."

"Nightwing, that's unreasonable. You already took over Batman's patrol in addition to your own," Tim argues, adding hastily when Dick opens his mouth in protest, "it's more than fine, I've done this before. Just go home and rest."

"Tim—"

"Batman's gonna kill you  _and_  me if he finds out how long you've been patrolling."

The older boy groans in defeat. "Fine. Nightwing out."

* * *

It's nearly three when Dick climbs through his apartment's security and back into his assumingly quiet living room, only to find his television on and his couch preoccupied by Jason.

"Jay?"

Jason side-glances at him from the corner of his eye before returning his gaze back onto the tv. "Expecting someone else?"

Dick laughs. "I guess I'm just surprised you're awake. Couldn't sleep without me, huh?"

"I guess I've gotten used to hearing your weird wet dreams at night," Jason scoffs and Dick chuckles at the snide remark, disarming his suit as he walks toward the cabinets of his kitchen. Before he can even rummage through them though, Jason informs, "there's leftover pasta in the refrigerator."

Dick takes no hesitation to open the tall appliance and grab for the excess dinner. He opens the tupperware's plastic lid before grinning and grabbing a fork from a drawer, "alfredo sauce with shrimp? Jay, you shouldn't have."

"Don't eat all of it," is Jason's only reply.

The older boy just digs a fork into the leftovers without even placing it in the microwave, shoving the food down his throat. "Jeez," he mumbles into the pasta, "I never knew you were such a good cook."

"Alfred taught me," Jason says nonchalantly, "he showed me the basics, at least. How was patrol?"

"Quiet," Dick answers, silently relieved from the shift of subject.

It's not like he doesn't want to speak about Alfred but there's a quiet strain of discomfort that wedges itself between them — the golden boy, Dick, and the nearly forgotten one, Jason — whenever they talk about their 'family'. Normally Dick would pry forward, but tonight he's already physically exhausted and wasn't interested in adding mental labor to his aching body.

"Was it?" Jason asks, the back of his head still facing toward Dick while his stare remains fixated on the television.

"Yeah," the older boy replies evenly, "I think Batman and Robin are finally starting to really clean up the city."

Jason snorts. "Tell that to Catwoman and Poison Ivy and—"

"—I meant smaller scale crimes," interjects Dick before the tall boy could list off anyone else. He maneuvers around the counter, taking his pasta with him, and begins to move toward the couch. "There was this one particular victim I came across though. Brutal death, I sent Tim some pictures and…"

He pauses, his gaze narrowing in on something on Jason's right hand.

It's red.

The vivid image of the bloody handprint painted across the dead man's neck flashes before Dick's eyes and the air suddenly stills around them.

"What's on your hand?" he asks steadily although his breath is tightly lodged in the base of his throat.

Jason's eyes widen slightly and he turns his right hand over with his palm facing up. A dried maroon substance is smeared across it and when he side-glances back to Dick, he's wearing an unreadable expression.

Silence crawls over them, the only sound of the television's current channel with a laugh track filling the quiet room, and Dick repeats himself again after a few silent moments, "what's on your hand, Jason?"

"Blood," the tall boy responds before turning to fully face the older boy. Jason absentmindedly cups the side of his right cheek before revealing a fair-sized cut with blood already clotting and forming a scab near his jawline. "Nicked myself earlier while shaving. Thought I washed all of it off. I promise there isn't any in your sink if you're worrying about that."

And just like that, the tense moment breaks, and Dick only nods, continuing to walk toward the couch and slides next to Jason.

The taller boy then stands to his feet and heads to the bathroom most likely to clean his hands off.

"Change the channel to whatever you want," he calls from the other room.

"Okay," Dick says, looking at his remote to see a small speck of leftover dried blood between two of its buttons before eying his food in his lap.

He's suddenly not hungry anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the really unnecessary long update guys… A family member of mine recently passed away and it's been extremely difficult to cope with. This isn't the first death I've dealt with, but it's definitely one of the hardest. I just haven't mentally been focused on much lately. Sorry guys. I promise regular updating will start up again soon.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter briefly goes over some indelicate matters pertaining to underage non-con/assault. It's nothing too detailed but it is mentioned/discussed about.

It begins as a normal morning.

But then things always tend to go to hell relatively quickly — for Dick, at least.

He was planning on visiting the WatchTower with Jason today but then the aforementioned boy's eyes linger a little bit too long on the television set and Dick instinctively follows his stare.

There's something  _different_  with the tv even though it's powered down. It's Jason that investigates it first, tapping the device with a finger while frowning to himself, and it's Dick that finishes the search. He unhinges the flat screen attached to the wall and finds an extra wire that wasn't there when he initially installed the tv and it's fairly clear where this new addition came from.

Their plans are cancelled without any words exchanged and Dick grabs a wrench from one of his cabinets, sighing to himself.

* * *

The low hum of the air conditioner hangs over him, wedging itself quite audibly within the empty space between him and Barbara.

He feels the vein in his neck throb, tension settling in the crevices of his bones, and he exhales a small sigh.

The redhead arches a disinterested eyebrow at him upon the sound. "Hm?" she finally regards him before flicking her vision back onto her laptop.

They're sitting in her apartment's living room that's notably much tidier than Dick's — with papers, files, and schoolwork all properly placed in the appropriate spots on her coffee table and shelves. Everything's so sickeningly clean it makes Dick want to squirm uncomfortably in the pale yellow armchair he's currently seated in.

Determinedly he ignores his desire to fidget and instead tries for a smile; tries to make things casual because they're friends, because  _this is Babs goddamnit_ , but — "So," he says with a grin that's too stretched and has too much teeth to be considered easy or genuine, "when was anyone going to tell me about my new home security?"

Barbara's gaze remains on her computer's screen, fixated on what appears to be Organic Chemistry notes. Dick notices her eyes aren't moving (but decides not to say anything) though.

There is a pause and then after a few beats later, she replies steadily, "you're really surprised, Dick?"

"The nearest area that security cameras are allowed is three blocks away from my apartment complex."

"Maybe you should discuss that with Bruce?" she suggests with an air of annoyance, finally glancing back at him again.

"I don't need to discuss anything with him," insists Dick, "I just want to know when this happened."

Barbara gives him a strange look. "I don't understand why you're so baffled by this. You lived in Bruce's household since you were nine. Consider it as an endearment."

"I know," he mutters, rubbing his temples in frustration, "but when I moved out and began training for the police force, we agreed to keep the invasion of privacy to a minimum. I just want to know the moment those terms ended and the security cameras began."

"When you became Nightwing again, what else do you expect?" she snaps crisply. When he gazes at her with furrowed eyebrows she exhales a heavy sigh, her glasses sliding to the bridge of her nose, and she gingerly takes them off before pinching the area in between her eyes. "Dick, did you look further into that man's murder?"

He blinks. "You mean the guy who was strangled to death? The one I found?"

"There have been other…  _incidents_ ," she explains quietly, "I'm not entirely certain if they're related; however, the circumstances surrounding the death of that man are similar."

"Similar to what, exactly?" he presses.

Her expression is grave, something dark looming across her delicate features. "That man you found sexually assaulted children."

Dick's throat tightens a bit. It's not like he isn't used to the dirty evil that's nestled quite comfortably in the grimy streets of Gotham — hell, he's taken down child trafficking rings more times than he can consciously count — but that doesn't make it any easier to swallow down the fact that these type of people really exist in this world.

"Oh," is all he can say; his mouth suddenly dry.

Barbara moves her laptop from her thighs to the coffee table and turns fully to him, continuing, "Batman caught him months ago; let the force take care of him. He was on trial waiting for his sentence. Offense was going for twenty years but it was his first infraction on his record that they had evidence of — I mean, Bruce was almost positive the guy had done that to more children before but…" She trails off and he nods in understanding so she carries on, "anyway, defense got it reduced down to four maybe six years. His last trial was going to finish in approximately two weeks."

"Four years?" Dick repeats in quiet dismay. He shakes his head in disgust, "that's absolutely terrible. How does this exactly—"

She answers before he can finish his inquiry, replying, "about maybe two years ago while the Team was off world on some Mars mission, Batman managed to end an underground human trafficking ring. The victims involved weren't of age. The top offenders were killed before they could even go to trial."

Dick's stomach churns. "They probably had enough money to bride themselves out anyway, huh?"

She nods her head once. "Yeah. That's not all though. I think it was a few months after you quit the Team, Bruce called me in to investigate some drug lord. He was stationed primarily in California but began crossing states a couple months prior. I did some digging and discovered he was 'offering' his sixteen-year-old daughter to his business partners in exchange for a better price for drugs. I almost located his safe house but it exploded before I could. Ten other men died in the fire with him that day. I think my dad is still trying to identify their bodies and figure out if they were innocent bystanders or actual clients or partners."

"The explosion at Korth Inc?" he asks, alarmed. "I thought the building's gas was faulty—" He stops, furrowing his eyebrows together, "why didn't you tell me that was a cover up?"

"Because it didn't  _concern_  you," she answers. "You went on a hiatus; you didn't want to be a superhero anymore, remember?"

Her words shouldn't sting but they do and he feels like he's been slapped in the face.

"You could've been  _in_  there, Babs," he tells her and she flinches because he's right. "You could've died too."

"But I didn't," she dismisses.

By the look she's giving him, he knows he can't prod any further on that subject so he questions next instead, "and Tim?"

She grimaces. "Elementary substitute school teacher. Somehow managed to bury his previous offence. Normally not our type of case but Tim… he… He knew one of the boys. A friend's little brother. So Tim investigated, Robin brought the teacher to justice, and he was prosecuted. But he never made it to jail."

"So you think these cases are linked due to the nature of the crime?" frowns Dick.

"Honestly, they're spread too far apart time-wise, but you know how paranoid Bruce is. When you reported back to the base the other night, Tim told him the circumstances of the murdered victim so Bruce wanted to take all the precautions he could."

"So he really thinks someone is stalking him? Us?"

Barbara shrugs half-heartedly. "I suppose. It doesn't seem like we're the targets though, so it's not alarming as of now. Just relatively strange."

They slip into momentary silence and let their gazes fall anywhere but on each other. Barbara's is back on her computer that she's sliding onto her lap again and Dick's settles on the nearest window. It's late afternoon and the day has grown warmer than this morning, still fighting off the impending crispness of incoming fall weather.

When Dick looks back to Barbara she's focused on the screen of her laptop, biting the end of a pen as she rereads the same formula over and over again either in attempt to comprehend its mathematical components or because she's trying to distract herself from him.

He has the urge to tuck a loose strand of her orange-red hair behind her ear but stops himself. He used to do that — used to fiddle with her hair in mild fascination when they were kids, but now the action seems so foreign.

_Why do they feel like such strangers now?_

"So," Barbara's voice brings him back to reality, "how'd you manage to disconnect the cameras? Tim personally created the security system for them."

"Everyone treats the kid like he's Bruce's first genius prodigy," he grins with the accompaniment of a dramatic roll of the eyes, "like he's the first kid to hack into Batman's encrypted files."

"How long did it take you?" she asks with a cocked eyebrow.

"Like five hours with two bathroom breaks."

She laughs at that. "Jason keep you company?"

"He offered to read  _The Pickwick Papers_  to me, said I reminded him of Mary but I declined," he answers, "so he watched tv instead, flipped back and forth between our favorite channels."

"He's doing well then?"

"He is," Dick nods, "still reads a lot. You should come by and see him. He always liked you when he was a kid."

Her gaze is suddenly undecipherable and her lips thin. "Dick…"

He knows where this conversation is headed by the implication that colors her tone and impulsively he begins to move but she catches his shirt's sleeve with her hand, stretching over from her spot on the couch. Their position reminds him of how he and Jason were in the same exact one days prior, except he isn't the one reaching out this time.

"Barbara,  _don't_ —"

She still does. "What is he going to do, Dick? He can't stay holed up in your apartment with you forever."

"My lease is almost up, I can probably just get a two bedroom in a few months."

"That's great but I mean what is he going to do with his life? Bruce can create a new identity for him anytime, you know. He's so smart, Dick; he's always been. He could go off to college, he could—"

" _Enough_ ," Dick snaps suddenly, tugging his arm away until she reluctantly lets go of him and the subject. "I know how smart he is, Babs. I know how much potential he's got but he and Wally died, okay? He's been dead for years, he can't just… Things aren't going to be okay for a while, alright? Just give him some damn space to breathe."

"Just because he died doesn't mean you have to suffer with him," she says and he sighs.

There's a small twinge of copper that seeps down the back his throat but he knows it's just his imagination. Just like his feverish dreams, just like the blood he tastes when he thinks of Jason.

"I know," he finally replies and Barbara frowns. "You just gotta trust me on this one, Babs. He'll come around. Just give him some time."

"Fine," she agrees reluctantly, looking the farthest thing from convinced.

* * *

When he arrives back to apartment, the news is playing on his television in the living room and Jason's outside on the balcony with a cigarette and beer can in each hand.

Dick makes a quick beeline to the small outdoor deck, pulling the sliding glass door open without a word and, before Jason can even greet him, he plucks the cigarette from the taller boy's hand and sticks it through the hole of the tin container.

Jason nearly drops the ruined beverage, spluttering out, "what the fuck, man?!"

"No underage drinking," Dick just snaps at him and Jason rolls his eyes.

"Says the guy who used to steal half-empty champagne glasses at galas."

"Half- _full_ ," the older boy corrects and his successor groans loudly, following him back into the living room area.

"So," Jason drawls, closing the balcony's door behind him, "what's got your panties in a bunch? Barbara say she saw you touching yourself on the cameras and refuses to delete the footage or—?"

He stops at Dick's tightened expression.

It takes maybe a split second for him to realize the reason behind Dick's irritation; why the older boy is weighted down with so much frustration. He smirks crookedly at the realization, his jaw visibly clenching. "This is about me, huh?"

"No," Dick says fiercely but Jason knows better.

"What's it this time? Even Babs doesn't trust me?"

"That's not…" Dick pauses, shaking his head, "no Jason, that's not it at all."

Jason barks out a rough laugh. "Good ol' Dick Grayson, always so considerate of others' feelings. Always letting other opinions pollute his own; always following the coattails of Batman."

Stunned by the cruelness of Jason's words, Dick just stares at him. Why does it always seem like whenever he takes one step forward with Jason, they take three steps back right after?

"Not that I'm surprised. ' _Moths, and all sorts of ugly creatures, hover about a lighted candle. Can the candle help it_?'"

"Charles Dickens?" Dick frowns and Jason's smirk just grows.

"So you  _have_  taken an interest in my books."

It's honestly a lucky guess, but Dick keeps the truth tucked behind his tongue.

"Tell me," Jason sneers next, moving closer to his predecessor, "how much guilt eats you alive at night? I assume quite a bit for you to even let me live here with you."

"Guilt?" Dick repeats.

"I know that's what always motivates you, Dick, that's what separates you from me — from Bruce. Always trying to save the people you couldn't save before; always trying to right the wrongs you let slip past your perfect fucking fingers. But I know you're not  _really_  perfect," he snarls through a wicked grin with all teeth and no charm. "I know your own worst enemy."

"Listen, if this is a jab at my fashion sense or unintentional massacre of the English language when I was younger…" Dick starts a weak attempt at trying to alleviate the tension that's beginning to rise between them. His joke fails horribly at reaching for levity and the unpleasant smile on Jason stretches at an even uglier angle.

"It's your need for people, Dickie-Bird," Jason informs, cutting him off, and stepping forward. "It gets you in trouble, especially when you're taught to push everyone away for the sake of their safety. It's a shame you've got to distant yourself from everyone that can actually protect themselves too."

They're a mere foot apart now, close enough for their breaths to bounce against one another, and Dick's never felt so much empty space and distance between him and another person in his entire life.

"I'm flattered, really," Jason carries on, "that you're willing to kick Barbara and Tim to the side for me. You must've felt like a real asshole for not going to my funeral then, huh? Or are you just trying to make amends with me for being so shitty to me when I was a kid?"

A daunting feeling is crawling up his spin and his head begins to cloud over in a foggy haze of alarm and confusion. Is he dreaming again? Is this reality?

"Jason," he says as firmly as he can and the younger boy gives him an awful smile. "That's not why I let you stay with me. Not out of guilt or anything else you might think. You're my family, Jay, I keep telling you this whether you want to believe me or not—"

"— _Don't_ ," Jason warns him suddenly, cutting through his words. He can see the veins straining in his brother's neck, pulsating from the anger thats slipping from Jason's very core.

But Dick's too far in, too frustrated himself and he sharply hisses in a condemning tone he used to rile the younger boy up with when they were kids, "don't what, Jay? Don't call you family? My dearest brother? My—"

"Shut the hell up!" Jason yells, raising a clenched hand as he lurches forward.

Dick instinctively braces himself, grabbing onto his couch and lifts his body upwards slightly and goes for Jason's legs. The taller boy has weight and possibly even power over him, but Dick's quicker and manages to hook a leg around the shallow dip behind one of Jason's knees and forces him downward.

He uses the momentum to his advantage, pushing Jason's head toward the floor while yanking one of the taller boy's arm at a painful angle. "Jay," he grates into his successor's ear, "Jay, you need to calm  _down_."

Jason lets out a breathy laugh that makes Dick feel like, even with the younger boy's arm hooked behind his back and his cheek pressed hard against the wooden floor beneath them, Jason has the upper hand here.

"Don't you get it, Dick? I'm not your fucking family, I'm the furthest thing from it," He smirks darkly. He stops struggling under Dick's hold much to the older boy's relief, pausing momentarily before drawling casually, "so… is this what you've done with West before? To control his temper so he doesn't deck you again? I bet he gets hard having you on top of him."

"Seriously Jason!?"

"What?" the aforementioned boy shrugs his shoulders unapologetically. "The guy's got the biggest boner for you, it's kinda hard to miss."

Dick flushes and loosens his grip just the slightest, letting his guard down for a split second, and the taller boy takes the opportunity to lift his body up with his free hand and flings his head back and collides it against his predecessor's face.

Dick yelps, clutching his nose, and Jason shoulders him hard enough to make him lose his balance. He tips to the side and tries to swat Jason with the heel of his foot but the taller boy grabs his ankle before he can even think to counter. Instinctively, he twists his hips and swings his other foot but Jason's unoccupied hand grips hard onto his calf and he roughly yanks the older boy forward, sliding Dick onto his back by the unexpected force.

The acrobat struggles to escape Jason's firm grasp on his legs, attempting to loop them around the broad boy and pull him into a headlock but Jason's grip is like steel and unwilling to break. It'd been nearly half a decade since the two wrestled — Dick always managing to out best his successor — but now they're so evenly matched.

Dick tries not to think of how Jason gained such strength and stamina.

Eventually Jason pins Dick down, digging his knees into the smaller boy's thighs to keep him in place. It isn't until now does Dick realize how much Jason's grown with the younger boy's full weight bearing down on him.

A rush of panic surges through his body until he meets Jason's eyes and sees the anger that once clouded Jason's vision had dissipated. In its place stands amusement and a shade of arrogance instead.

"For a guy who's known to be quick on his feet," his successor says with a shit-eating grin, his low grumble of a laugh trickling across Dick's cheek, "your left ankle is still weak. That's your second shortcoming, by the way."

"Gloat all you want, Jay," Dick sneers through clenched teeth, ignoring the strange spark of fervor coiling up in his stomach. "I mean, I guess I'd be pretty stoked on  _finally_  winning one out of the thousand fights we've had."

"What's my prize?" Jason smiles wolfishly and Dick feels his breath hitch.

He tries to keep his voice steady when he answers, "I'll sit through an X-Files marathon with you."

Jason frowns. "Did you sit through Nicktoons with Drake when he finally kicked your ass?"

The acrobat smiles faintly. "More like the entire series of Twin Peaks. I know, I'm such a good big brother."

A grated noise in the back of Jason's throat slips past his mouth and it sounds like a low growl of disapproval. Dick grimaces, "What? Not good enough prize?"

Jason just leans forward, murmuring, "not exactly the one I have in mind."

The older boy quirks an eyebrow of appraisal, questioning, "then what—"

But he's cut off as Jason presses in, his voice an octave lower than usual, "you remember when I said ' _Don't you get it, Dick? I'm not your fucking family, I'm the furthest thing from it'_?"

"Yeah?" Dick can hear himself whisper, swallowing thickly as his quickened pulse begins to pound against his skull. His mind is flashing between his fever dreams, to the false familiarity of Jason's lips, to the way his heart clenched on their way back from the bar a week ago, to—

Jason holds their gaze, his eyes dark despite the sun's warm glow filling the room. "Well," he breathes quietly, "do you get it  _now_?"

Dick doesn't remember who bridges the gap first but suddenly Jason's heated mouth is slanted against his and  _fuck_ , he knows he shouldn't be moving his lips against Jason's  _but_ …

At least he gets it now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY! THINGS! ARE! HAPPENING! Wally will be making an appearance next chapter as well. Also, I feel like Tim would totally be a Twin Peaks nerd (ya know, when he has enough time to actually watch tv).


	11. Chapter 11

He's not exactly sure how they even got to this point of searing kisses and wandering hands, sliding his tongue against Jason's (surprisingly) expert one, but he doesn't really care.

Because kissing Jason here and now isn't like kissing Dream-Jason. It isn't terrifying, choked breaths, and vicious. It's desperately clutching onto each other, digging nails into exposed skin or the soft fabric of their clothes, and unexpectedly heated and primal.

Like they're trying to out best one another, their rough kiss all teeth and tongue, until Jason pulls away and moves his lips to the area behind Dick's ear, instantly shooting a jolt down to the older boy's groin.

" _Fuck_ ," Dick lets slip and he can feel the broad boy grin wickedly against his skin. In retaliation to a particularly painful nip, he threads his fingers through Jason's thick hair and tugs roughly but it only seems to encourage Jason to bite even harder.

Not that Dick really minds, though.

Amidst their groans and heavy pants, there's a distorted buzzing sound that feels like it's tolling off in the distance, far above their reach, and Dick hazily looks toward the direction it's coming from as Jason trails hot kisses down the curve of his neck. He gasps out as Jason bites down onto his throat, fighting for his drifting attention.

Still, with his vigilante instincts — and the annoying need to always know his surroundings — he struggles through the carnal fog clogging his mind and zeros in on the noise.

It's his phone on the coffee table a few feet away, vibrating loudly against the wooden surface.

"Don't, for the love of god, answer that," Jason growls huskily into the lobe of Dick's ear before grazing teeth against the shell of it.

And Dick almost doesn't, too drunk off the sensation of Jason's tongue on his skin, but when his phone stops buzzing, indicating the end of the call, it starts right back up again and alarms immediately go off in his head. He manages to snap momentarily back to reality long enough to reach for his phone, ignoring Jason's unrelenting glare, and answers it.

" _Di-ck—!_ " Artemis's voice crackles into the phone before he can even get a greeting out. She sounds so far away, the connection coming and going as she speaks frantically. " _Dick I ne—your he-lp._ "

"Artemis? Artemis, what's wrong? Where are you?" he says as he detangles the rest of his body from Jason.

" _It's Wally, he—_ " she yells and the distant sound of something akin to an explosion goes off in the backdrop of wherever she is, " _—shit_!"

"Where are you?!" he repeats again, scrambling to his feet.

" _Stamford, Connecti-cut_ ," she answers, " _I—explain every—when you get here. Hurry_."

The call abruptly cuts out and Artemis's end suddenly goes dead.

Dick looks to Jason who stares back with furrowed eyebrows. "How far is Stamford, Connecticut from here?"

"Well Connecticut borders New York so, depending on how close Stamford is to the shoreline, probably not too far away," Jason answers. "Why?"

"It's Wally and Artemis," Dick answers thickly, "they're in trouble and we need to leave now."

"We?" Jason parrots skeptically, following the elder of the two into the apartment's only bedroom. "Did we not go over that I'm done with the whole 'fighting crime and wearing tights' gig?"

"Both Teams are on missions." Dick grimaces as he fumbles through his closet, pulling out his Nightwing attire. "I need all the help I can get until more backup arrives."

The taller boy frowns. "But—"

"We'll talk about all of this once we find Wally," he pauses to glance back at Jason, catching the other boy's uncertain gaze. "Jason,  _please_ , I need your help."

Jason rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head — like he knows what he's about to agree to is clearly going against his better judgment — and groans, "fuck, alright. But you owe me big time."

* * *

A small portion of the industrial city of Stamford is in near ruins, grime and fragments of glass, pipes, and building scattered about the disheveled streets. And when they find Artemis, she's nearly unconscious slumped against heavy debris that appears to be a broken piece of a brick wall.

"Tigress!" Dick yells through the settling dust as they approach the wounded girl.

The blonde stirs weakly in her place, grasping for Dick's arm when he crouches down to examine her visible lacerations and any other possible injuries. "The building," she gasps, nodding off to her side. "Wally's in that building! Hurry!"

"Stay with her," Dick orders Jason.

The taller boy, awkwardly clad in a thick beanie, sweatpants, oversized hoodie, and a leftover mask of Dick's in order to conceal his identity, complies without protest and watches his predecessor bolt into the establishment.

It's an office building and parts of the walls are heavily singed and burnt, papers dispersed everywhere, and desks and chairs upturned or broken.

A small heated blast rocks the ceiling of the second floor that Dick's on and he rushes toward the third, pulling out his escrima sticks as he rounds the corner. His calculating gaze sweeps through the chaotic room, immediately falling on the outline of a small feline.

Dick instantly recognizes the cat as Teekl, Klarion's unworldly companion and anchor to this dimension. The feline appears severely injured with its heavy, jagged breaths and inability to move, which means—

"Kid Flash!" he shouts. "Kid Flash, STAND DOWN!"

The Lord of Chaos is crumbled on the ground with Wally looming over and Wally laughs, actually  _laughs_ , at Dick's command as he hammers a hard blow to Klarion's jaw. When he pulls back, the witch boy just cackles at him in mockery and grins upward with blood smeared across his teeth.

"Oh the original Kid Flash!" he taunts with glee. "You're a lot grumpier than I remember. Are you mad at me? Did that mean ol' chrysalis energy tear you apart? Tell me, did it  _hurt_?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Wally smirks cruelly in response and a chill runs up Dick's spine. His best friend looks like an absolute nightmare as he growls out in a tone Dick's never heard before, " _why don't I rip you the fuck apart so you find out_?"

"That's enough!" yells Dick, grabbing onto Wally's raised fist and yanks it backward. "Kid Flash, I said that's enough! What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

The redhead scoffs at his question, almost as if it's trivial and not even worth an answer. "The Light — they're planning something, Nightwing. I  _know_  it. And I'm ending it before someone else dies."

"This isn't how we stop innocent people from getting hurt or from dying," Dick breathes unevenly.

"Do you really think incarcerating someone like him is going to stop him, Nightwing? Or do you think at least cutting off his hands and breaking his jaw will?"

"Remember what you stand for," the younger boy urges firmly instead of answering, his hands straining to keep Wally's own one in place.

The redhead seethes in undiluted fury within his tight restraint, trembling violently as he snarls, "remember what I stand for? Fuck, I can't even remember who I  _am_."

Fear gripes Dick's entire being. "What… what are you talking about?"

Wally's hand — the one Dick's preventing from knocking the rest of Klarion's teeth in — suddenly breaks free from Dick's grasp and slams down onto the floor inches away from the witch boy's head.

Dick watches as his best friend continues to violently punch the tiled ground over and over again until Wally's bloody knuckles knock gently against his thigh, his brutal movements slowing to a halt, and he let's out a pained sigh.

Without hesitation Klarion uses the abrupt shift of attention to crawl off, reaching for Teekl's wounded body, and disappears into thin air. But neither of the boys seem to even notice, too caught up in the disorienting moment.

Wally slumps his shoulders in total defeat before murmuring, "Everything is so… so  _foggy_. I know my atoms were ripped apart temporarily when I died, but why is everything else okay with me? Why is my body and abilities intact but I can't remember the right things?" he asks, the tone in his voice so raw and desperate. "I don't know where the forks go in my apartment, I can't even talk to Bart or my parents, but I remember you have a scar on your arm that kind of looks like a flower and I know your favorite movie is Taxi."

Dick doesn't know what to say anymore. Wally's words and their heavy implication looming so darkly over them, nearly suffocating them.

"It's like I'm missing a part of me, a part of my brain." He roughly knocks his knuckles against his temples, his eyes watery and his stare unhinged and unfocused. His friend places a hand on his arm. "Why am I so fucked up now, Dick?  _Why_?"

There is a hole somewhere in Dick's heart, and it's starting to bleed everything out of him.

"Wally," he swallows thickly, painfully, "Wally, you're not fucked up; you're not—"

"I'm just so angry, there's this rage in me that I can't contain sometimes and I always take it out on you and Artemis. You guys say I've been through a lot, and yeah," he huffs out a bitter laugh, "I have, but fuck, when are you guys gonna stop forgiving me? When will all these second chances eventually run out? When're you just going to walk away?"

He's starting to shake and Dick slides an arm around his friend, his cheek pressed against the side of Wally's shoulder. "We're never going to, man. You're my best friend, Wally; I would never walk away from you. No one is. Not from you. We love you and we know you love us and—"

"But that's the problem," Wally cuts him off with a low growl, twisting his body to look at Dick and simultaneously knocking the younger boy off his shoulder. "I don't know if I even have the same love in me."

"Of course you do," Dick insists vehemently and the redhead shakes his head.

"Not for everyone."

The sheer certainty painting his words makes the color drain from Dick's face. "What?"

"I know the way I feel for the Team, for my uncle and Bart, for Artemis, for  _you_ ," he says, "isn't the same way I felt before I died. I… I know I love Artemis but…"

There is a long pause and it feels like everything stills around them. Dick starts to subconsciously pull himself backwards — only for Wally's hand to grab the nape of his neck.

"I think… I think I—" Wally suddenly stops himself, muttering out an exasperated, "oh  _fuck_."

Before Dick can even ask what's wrong, flames engulf them as an explosion goes off from every corner of the building.

* * *

When Dick wakes up, he's lying on soft ground.

His right cheek is pressed against dirt and as he turns to look skywards, the entire world tilts with his gaze. Everything is blurry still; all his surroundings glassy and new and he waits for his eyesight to rectify with the relaxing, albeit unreliable, feeling that he's in no immediate danger.

There's a cool breeze that sails over him — the kind that rejuvenates and keeps the impending heat at bay — and bright yellow and red colors whirl around him. As his vision clears and starts to focus, he realizes he's within the canopy of a large tent. A circus tent.

His fingers move through the dirt beneath him and he slowly picks himself up, brushing the loose soil off his pants, and tries to think of how he even managed to get here. He hazily recalls an explosion, something stirring inside his chest when Wally's image dips into his memories and he jerks visibly in his place when he hears someone calling out to him.

"Oh silly bird, always with your head in the clouds and dirt on your clothes," an airy laugh flitters through the air and warmth expands in his chest upon the sound. He hurriedly pushes himself upward, turning toward the direction of the voice.

"M-mom?" he gasps, scrambling to his feet when his gaze falls on his mother. He nearly plows into her, hugging her close to his chest as she giggles into the crook of his neck.

Mary Grayson rubs her son's back, gently prying herself from his grasp. "Come," she urges him with a smile that's nearly identical to his own, "your father wants to practice before the show."

There is something within him — like a pang, or an itch — that rattles against his insides; something that tells him that this is  _wrong_  and  _don't go_ but he ignores it, feeling more than obligated to follow his mother wherever she leads him.

She doesn't look back once, almost as if she knows he's trailing faithfully behind, and doesn't hesitate as she begins to climb up a ladder leaning close to a sturdy, thick pole. The climbing structure is consisted of a combination of steel bars for its steps and strong rope for its two sidepieces, straining slightly as Mary begins to ascend up it.

"Hurry, Richard," she lightly warns him with a grin, finally glancing over her shoulder once she's a quarter way up the ladder, "your father will be on the other side by the pace you're going."

Dick grabs onto the ladder upon the mention of his father, forcing himself to climb despite the churning feeling that's stirring in his constricted chest. He suddenly feels weaker, like he isn't a twenty year old vigilante that nightly leaps across rooftops anymore, and he struggles to continue to pull himself up.

He pushes through the building pain, determinedly focusing on the backside of his mother, and watches her defined muscles work as she scales upward. It's been so long since he's last seen her; he nearly forgot how strong his mother was and—

_Oh_. His eyes widen as a thought dawns upon him.

"Am I… am I  _dead_?" he exhales throatily and it comes out as a harsh whisper while the idea seeps down into his skull.

"No, of course not, sweetheart," she giggles —  _and, god, he almost forgot how her laugh sounds like wind chimes_ — but the burning sensation in his stomach doesn't settle.

He doesn't have time to respond as she pulls herself from the ladder and onto a platform surrounding the large pole. Once he makes it to the open terrace, Mary is leaning against the vertical beam and gazing at the back of a man balancing on a tightrope.

Dick's heart lurches in his chest, swiftly reaching out for his mom as he yells, "no, mom, get away from there!"

It's like she's made of thin air as he goes to grab her, easily dodging his hand and steps onto the strained rope. She walks so fluidly and effortlessly on the cord, like she's merely walking on the ground far beneath them, and holds out her hand as she continues to move forward.

"Come, my little Robin, don't make your father and I wait."

She wants him to step onto the tightrope with them, his father already more than halfway toward the middle, but there's a feeling inside of him that is furiously whispering into his ear for him to  _resist_.

He does.

"Mom, dad," he tries to plead instead, "come back here, please. Just come back here."

His eyes sting as they ignore him, stretching their arms and legs all the while maintaining perfect balance on the tense high wire. He almost moves to step on but—

There's a sudden snap that sounds like the crack of thunder and it echoes violently across the empty canopy.

"NO!" Dick screams as his parents plunge toward their death.

Without hesitation, he dives after them; his mother's foot almost within his reach until his arm that isn't extended outward is grasped onto and he screams in horror as his parents' bodies continue to descend downward while he remains suspended in midair.

He looks upward, his vision watery, and fear jolts through his body.

"Jason," Dick swallows down his rising panic, "what're you doing?"

Jason smirks at him, his grip tightening around Dick's wrist. "Isn't it obvious, Dickie-Bird?" He rocks them back and forth in the air, his legs wrapped tightly around the trapeze bar. "I'm saving the show."

"I almost reached them," Dick gasps out as he wiggles in the other boy's grasp, trying to pry himself away but to no avail. "Jason, I almost got to them—"

"They're dead, Dick," Jason reminds him with a grimace. "Even if you managed to reach them, you would've died and you can't just sacrifice yourself and stay here with them forever."

He chokes back a sob, determinedly keeping his eyes off the ground far below them, as the two boys continue to dangle in midair. "Then what about you?"

"What about me?"

"You can't stay here forever either," he insists weakly. "You're just as alive as I am."

Jason gives him an unpleasant smile. "But maybe I really  _am_ dead, Dickie. Maybe a part of me died when I woke up in the Lazarus Pit."

Dick's eyes widen, clamping a hand on Jason's as he tries to pull himself from the younger boy's grip.

"What's wrong, pretty bird?" Jason laughs harshly. "Maybe I'm the Jason you remember. You know, the one who watched Disney movies with you whenever Bruce forced you to come by the Manor for movie night. The one who's face you nearly spat on when you found out I was the new Robin. The one you didn't even  _bury_."

The smooth, freckled skin of Jason's face gradually begins to sag and discolor and his hair is starting to fall out in clumps, revealing a grayish rotting scalp.

His jaw slackens to an unnatural angle as he asks, "now be honest when I ask you this: Would you rather wake up or stay here with me and them?" He tilts his head further down. "It's your choice."

Dick follows his gaze, his stomach turning at the sight of them.

His parents aren't lying on the floor, broken and dead, but instead standing erect with limbs that look twisted and out of place and blood trickling out of open wounds. Next to them is another body he hasn't seen until now, and he almost doesn't recognize who it is except for the shock of ginger hair standing out amidst the brown dirt around them. He knows, without a doubt, that it's Wally — except there are parts of him  _missing,_  and he doesn't seem affected by his removed skin and gaping cuts.

They all wave to Dick with wide, bloody smiles, and he suddenly can't breathe.

"Jason," he starts to beg, although he's not sure what he's begging for anymore. He peers upward at the other boy's rotting face. "Jason,  _please_ —"

"It's time to wake up, Dick," Jason tells him, "unless you wanna stay here forever with us. Do you hear me? You have to wake up."

Dick listens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I probably rewrote this chapter maybe like five times so that's the lame reason behind the long update. Sorry guys and thank you so much for sticking with me and my chaotic posting :/


	12. Chapter 12

When Dick comes to, he's no longer clad in his Nightwing attire but a thin hospital robe and there are wires and tubes connected to the veins in his arms. He's in a small, sterile white room with only quiet beeps emitting from a few monitoring machines that spike upon his awakening.

Immediately he tries to sit up, memories of the day's previous chaotic events flooding his mind in a rush of adrenaline and panic, until a strong pair of small hands push him gently back.

Barbara's unmasked face is suddenly peering downward at him and his heart monitor slows when he recognizes her familiar face.

"Hey," she says soothingly, "it's okay, just lie back down."

"Where's Wally?" he asks her hoarsely as he complies.

"Unharmed," she tells him, adding, "and in much better condition than you are."

He takes a minute to run a hand through his hair, frowning when he feels a few patches singed and uneven. Ah well, he needed a haircut anyway.

He then eyes his exposed arms, relieved to only see minor burns scattered across his otherwise relatively unmarred skin. When he moves his other hand, he's hit with a jolt of pain that spirals up his extremity and he winces at the unexpected throb. It doesn't feel broken — he knows that pain all too well — but it's incredibly sore and weak which means possibly a strain?

He doesn't stop to dwell too much on it, feeling more than lucky to escape the flames earlier licking his back with something akin to a sprained arm and proceeds to use his other uninjured hand to feel his face but Barbara stops him.

Shaking her head, she assures him, "your shoulder's been dislocated. Just a minor anterior dislocation and a few burns but that's about it so don't worry, Hunk Wonder, your pretty face is still very much intact."

"Good to know my money-maker is a-okay," he smirks and she grins stiffly in response but it doesn't mask her grim expression.

She takes a step back, fingers clenching tightly onto the back of a chair placed by his bedside. How long has she been waiting for him to wake up?

There's no time to ask her; Barbara already laying her own inquiry onto him. "What the hell happened back there, Dick?"

"Artemis called me," he answers her earnestly, "said her and Wally were in Stamford and she needed help."

"And that's all?" she presses in, like she doesn't believe a word he's telling her.

Although, to be honest, with all the half-truths he's been giving her, he's not exactly surprised with her skeptical behavior. Barbara Gordon isn't stupid — the farthest thing from it — and she knows that there are lies tucked neatly behind Dick's bright smile. She just hasn't done anything to pry them out yet.

"Klarion was there," he offers vaguely, "he was fighting with Wally but he disappeared before I could really get involved."

His version is a little abbreviated, a little distorted, but he isn't necessarily  _lying_  to her. Just sweeping Wally's mental breakdown to the side.

"Then there was an explosion and I guess I passed out. My suit's relatively fire-proof but the fire—"

"It was some sort of ancient magic," she sighs. "Took Zatanna almost a half an hour to get it under control and completely dispel it. It was just… just  _so_  powerful. Some sort of intensity I've never seen before. You're lucky Wally got you two out of there. M'gann's lucky too."

His eyes widen,  _oh god_.

"M'gann?" he says alarmed, his stomach twisting painfully.

"She's okay. Recovering." answers Barbara. "Delta Team arrived at the scene a few minutes before the explosion. She was a few feet inside when it happened. The blast did a number on her but Conner was able to get her out of there before the fire became too unbearable."

"He's okay too?" Dick asks.

She nods stiffly. "A few burns but he'll be fine." She sighs, stepping a little closer to his bedside. All pretenses have fallen now and his heart pangs painfully against his ribcage as she says, "so, you wanna keep bullshitting me, Grayson? Or are you gonna tell me the truth about why Wally was there."

"What the hell, Babs?" he frowns. "Shouldn't you be interrogating Artemis about this?"

"Artemis wasn't in that building with him when it exploded," she says tightly, "but  _you_  were. Tim's been telling me things, Dick. Kaldur too. You can't keep avoiding all of us; you've got to tell us what's wrong."

But Dick  _can't_. Because how can he even possibly explain the unsettling anger and misconstrued memories Wally has without the League hauling him off for analysis? He lost Wally once and he'd be damned if he lost his best friend again.

"Wally's my best friend, Barb," he tells her, "I… I almost lost myself after he died. I'd do anything to ensure his safety. If something was wrong I'd tell you—"

"But you're  _not_  telling me, Dick. And you know what? You're not the only one who lost someone when they died," she says thickly, not quite meeting his gaze anymore, "when Jason died, Bruce lost a son, and I lost someone who I considered a little brother to me. And when Wally… when Wally died, I lost a friend too. And Barry lost a nephew,  _his_  nephew, and Bart lost a part of his family and Artemis lost the love of her life. You're not the only one who suffered, Dick; who lost someone they loved."

He considers her words for a moment and thinks,  _she's right, oh god she's so incredibly right_.

He forces himself to hold his gaze on her as he mumbles, "why're you doing this, Barb?"

"Because you always do  _this_ ," she sneers, visibly frustrated and uncharacteristically cruel. "You always close off when things get difficult. Let me help Dick. Let Tim and Bruce help. We're your family, your partners."

"And I left the Team and stopped being Robin for a reason," he snaps before he can refrain himself. His chest constricts the moment he lets those words spill from his mouth, seeing the harshness of them slap his friend straight in the face and knows it's too late to take them back no matter how badly he wants to.

Bitterness curves the edges of Barbara's lips into a tight smile. "You know, I always wondered why you and I didn't work out," she admits and Dick's heart aches at the disenchanting tone that paints her words.

"Barbara," he begins to apologize but she stops him.

"But I understand now," she continues, "it doesn't matter how much you love someone, Dick — how much you love me or Tim or the rest of your friends; your team — because you're always going to shut us out for the sake of what  _you_  think is right."

"That's not it," he insists through gritted teeth. "Come on, Barb, you're being a little unfair here."

She lets out a rueful laugh and shakes her head.

The distance amidst them, the large gap Dick felt days ago, opens even wider than before and he's not sure if he can bridge the empty space between them anymore.

"You know, you're a lot more like Bruce than you'll ever know," she grimaces before sliding a hand in the inside pocket of her blazer. She pulls out a small envelope, tossing it languidly onto his lap before standing to her feet; a knock at the door simultaneously signaling for her to leave. "Here's some information Tim and I found out about the Lazarus Pit. It's not much, but I figured it'll save you some time if you ever decide to investigate the pits."

He can't even get a thanks in, his mouth dry and raw from unspoken words hanging above their heads, before the door creaks open and Jason steps in. The mask is absent from his face, but he's still wearing the rest of the baggy clothes from earlier and he quirks an eyebrow up as he stiffly lingers under the threshold.

"Um, I can come back later?" the younger boy offers, the tension in the air almost tangibly thick and heavy.

"I was just about to leave," Barbara says, her stilted smile turning into a slightly warmer one as she brushes past Jason. She pats his broad shoulder before exiting down the sterile hallway of the hospital, the weight of her conversation with Dick still looming darkly over the room.

"Everything okay?" Jason asks and Dick forces a grin, nodding. The taller boy rolls his eyes and pulls a chair up to his predecessor's bedside, leering, "wanna tell me the truth, Dick?"

"It's nothing," Dick insists.

Jason frowns, eying the envelope Barbara left behind. "That love note says differently."

"It's not a love note," Dick sighs with a pang of reluctance because now the broad boy is looking at him curiously. He instantly tries to shift the subject, fixating attention back onto Jason as he asks, "what's it with you always thinking I'm terrible with romantic relationships?"

"I wouldn't call yours and West's relationship romantic," snorts Jason, "more like him having a hard on every time he sees you."

The older boy thins his lips, quirking an eyebrow. "If you're jealous—"

"Oh my god," his predecessor interjects before he can finish, "fuck no I'm not jealous."

"Are you sure?" Dick smirks only for Jason to grab a fistful of his hospital robes, yanking him upwardly slightly.

His heart monitor spikes for a moment but he manages to control his quickened pulse immediately after. Still the sharp increase of his heart rate is unmistakable and irrefutably heard and Jason grins downward at him, bearing his teeth in a strange smile. "Yeah," he whispers lowly, "I'm sure."

Their kiss is chaste and quick, like a soft secret in the form of a fleeting brush of lips, and Dick almost leans into it until he feels like something is  _off_ and he instinctively pulls back, his chest tightening as his intuition is confirmed.

"Jason," he growls as the aforementioned boy leans back. "Give that back to me."

But it's too late and Jason's opening Barbara's envelope, dodging Dick's hands as he skims through the collected data. His expression is unreadable, like an indecipherable stonewall he's seen etched across Bruce and Tim's features — and probably his own — before. It feels like seconds are crawling by until Jason folds the paper and tosses it back onto the older boy's lap.

"Some love note that is," he comments flatly, catching Dick's unwavering gaze. "B still assigning his faithful little birds and bats to do all the dirty work so he can take all credit and swoop in save the day?"

"No," Dick mumbles as he slides the information back into its envelope. "That's not it…"

Jason huffs out a rueful chuckle, like he's not surprised with the explanation that's left unsaid between them. As if he's expecting it.

"He's not letting any of us participate in his own case," Dick explains quickly in attempt to alleviate the developing strain rising amidst them.

But he's too late because there's a certain acidity that sharpens Jason's face now, and he shakes his head at Dick, grinning crookedly as he says, "probably doesn't want any more causalities. Can't afford to lose another one of his soldiers with all those criminals running amuck in Gotham, can he?"

Dick frowns and thinks of the glass case hidden in Bruce's cave; of the small plaque under it.

_Jason Todd  
A Good Soldier_.

There's an abrupt knock at the door and suddenly Artemis's head is peaking through. She appears as exhausted as Dick feels with bandages covering various parts of her bruised body and, as she steps into the room, Jason stands to his feet.

"Is your own room not accommodating enough for you?" he cocks an eyebrow, crossing his arms and Artemis flushes.

"Just wanted to stop by and see how Dick's doing," she says stiffly.

Jason waves his hand at her dismissively as he maneuvers around her and moves toward the entrance, "right, right. I'll let you two compare injuries or whatever."

With the door shut tightly behind Jason, Dick looks to Artemis and tries not to let his stare linger too long on her black eye. Instead his gaze falls to the gauze wrapped around one of her arms, a little discolored from blood seeping through, and he asks, "how are you?"

"It's nothing," she mutters, rubbing the bandage, before plopping down onto the seat Jason just left. "I've felt worse."

"And Wally?"

The air is thick again and the already small room feels like it's shrinking around them.

She doesn't meet his stare, looking down at the tiled floor beneath them. "He's okay. He… He went out for a run. After the Team showed up and we managed to diminish the fire. He hasn't come back yet."

"Artemis," he sighs, rubbing the nape of his neck as he sits upwards. "What happened back there? Why the hell were you guys in Stamford?"

"Wally's been tracking the Light members," she answers quietly, "through the WatchTower. Remember when I told you he wanted to stop the Light by any means necessary? Well, I guess Klarion was heading toward Massachusetts. Something about the witch trials over in Salem and possibly gaining power or something over there? I don't know, but Wally somehow traced his footsteps and went after him."

"He didn't tell anyone?" Dick asks, swallowing down the unsettling feeling creeping up his throat.

"He tried talking about Klarion's abnormal activity with Kaldur but the Team's just been preoccupied and divided between other missions," replies Artemis, still refusing to meet his gaze. "Sure it was suspicious, I guess, but nothing really alarming. Not to Kaldur, at least. So Wally went after Klarion by himself. I managed to catch up with him but it was too late. Wally was right, Klarion  _was_  somehow gaining some ancient power — probably from visiting the Mayan Ruins a few months ago. We investigated his visit there but found nothing so we just closed that case… Anyway, his last stop was in Massachusetts but we caught up with him in Connecticut and then things kinda got out of control."

She pauses, letting out a shuddering breath as she digs her fingers into her arm.

"I'm so sorry, Dick," she says faintly, "I didn't mean for you to get hurt. I just didn't know who else to call."

"It's okay," he assures her, his heart twisting at how tired and weak she looks. "I would've done the same thing — call you, I mean. He's having a hard time adjusting to everything. I imagine it's difficult for the both of you right now. If there's anything I can do—"

"Actually there is," she tells him, like she's been waiting for him to offer her his help her entire visit. "This sounds like a weird request but… Do you think you could stay over at our place in Palo Alto for a few nights?"

Dick's eyebrows furrow together in slight confusion, his lips thinning at the strange request. "Uh, I don't know, I mean with Jason—"

"He can stay with us too, of course," she hurriedly ensures him, finally peering upward at him, "I just think with Wally's best friend being there… I mean, I think it'd just help him. He was pretty broken up over you and M'gann getting hurt during the crossfire."

Dick manages a weak smile as he mulls over her invitation.

He knows taking her up on her suggestion indefinitely pushes off the impending discussion needed between him, Jason, and whatever's developing between them but…

Maybe a change of scenery  _would_  be nice for both him and Jason. It's beginning to become even more gray and dreary over in Blüdhaven as the fall season encroaches upon the city and, admittedly, the last thing either of them need is additional gloom looming over their inherently brooding bodies. Besides, it's not like Bruce needs him now with his temporary injury; he doesn't really have any need to be near Gotham or her sister city.

Plus, he adds, he can keep a closer eye on Wally.

And something tells him as he agrees—

"Okay," he nods finally and the tight lines in Artemis's face look like they soften a bit under the dim lighting of the room.

"Really?" she asks and he smiles in confirmation. She reaches over and places a hand over his, squeezing it tightly as she smiles in exhausted relief and quieted appreciation.

—that's exactly what she wants him to do too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long update!! I've been in the process of moving and starting a new job so I've been super distracted and busy :/ Thank you to everyone that's left kudos, comments, or bookmarked this story! I'm so humbled and appreciative of you guys!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys sorry for the really, reaaaaallllllyyyyy, like a year and a half long, update. To better explain myself, I guess I can only really say I've been battling mild depression for over a decade now and it started to win for a bit so I threw myself into work to combat against it. I hope this doesn't sound like a excuse, because it's most certainly not, but I just wanted to explain my absence.

It takes another day for Dick to be deemed healthy enough to be released from the private hospital ward; adorning a thin sling holding his injured shoulder and arm in place, and a pocket full of pain meds that Jason scoffs in protest at when the doctor initially prescribes them.

Bruce only makes an appearance at the hospital for Dick's discharge and pulls him aside.

"I advise you not to stay in Palo Alto," he tells Dick.

Dick chooses not to argue, but instead inquires, "why? Because of Jason?"

"The Manor would be a much more appropriate place to recover," his superior simply replies.

Dick feels the folded envelope containing Lazarus information crinkle lightly in his pocket and he thinks of Tim, of Barbara, and of finally giving some sort of assistance in their research. Then his fleeting thoughts surge forward to Artemis, her pleading request, to Wally's bloody knuckles and Jason's torrid touch, and all the unanswered questions that hang above them.

He drags his foot mindlessly across the gravel underneath them, his eyes falling to the ground before he looks back to Bruce, squinting in the broad daylight that seeps across the busy parking lot. It feels like everything is ablaze and burning around him.

"It would be," he says finally, "but I miss Wally." And that's the damn truth; it boils underneath his veins and burrows a painful ache in his chest.  _He misses his best friend_. And that, for once, is something Bruce cannot reason against. "I'd like to spend some time with him outside of the WatchTower… outside of uniforms and patrol and jobs."

"Very well," Bruce complies without hesitation, although the tension that materializes itself between them tells Dick exactly what his mentor really thinks of the situation.

It's a bit of curse — to have such a strong nonverbal connection between the two of them. They might not know how the other precisely feels, but a slight shift of mood or a twitch on the side of a mouth tells enough.

"The Manor is always open," continues his superior, placing a large hand on Dick's uninjured shoulder. "Enjoy your time with your friends."

The underlying suspicion is nearly palpable, Barbara and Tim's watchful gazes burning into his back, and he forces a smile.

Like clockwork when Bruce departs with Babs and Tim, Jason returns to his side, and he tries not to notice at how Jason's fingertips graze against his arm. He looks to the younger boy and feels the tension, the tightness, that grips his body when others are around loosen its hold on him and he allows his body to relax for the moment.

It doesn't feel like it's almost fall. It's still slightly hot and humid out and perspiration is already starting to form on Jason's forehead and nape of his neck — and it isn't until now does Dick truly assess his once-successor.

He'd gotten glimpses before over the past few months, but they've all been so brief. Like if he looks too long and too hard then somehow the heavy reality of the situation, of Jason being alive and home, will shatter and he'll just disappear again.

Dick almost reaches out and touches Jason's shoulder, almost tells him it's time to go home, until Artemis and Wally approach them and the relatively peaceful moment lapses.

_"Remember what I stand for? Fuck, I can't even remember who I am."_

The skin around Wally's hands are still slightly bruised and discolored and Dick keeps his eyes fixated on his best friend's face.

_"It's like I'm missing a part of me, a part of my brain." Wally roughly knocks his knuckles against his temples, his eyes watery and his stare unhinged and unfocused. "Why am I so fucked up now, Dick? Why?"_

When it's Wally's shoulder that Dick decides to place his hand on; when it's Wally's place he says "let's go home" to instead, he tries to ignore the way Jason looks at him.

The two of them fall back while they all head toward the nearest Zeta-Tube that's just a half a mile off, hidden in an alleyway of an industrial building nearby. A few steps ahead of them, Wally's assisting Artemis with an arm wrapped gently around her thin waist, although his gaze is sharp when Dick catches it from the corner of the redhead's eyes. He wonders if Jason sees it too but he knows even if the tall boy had, it's not like he could really say anything.

Because it's really Dick who should speak first. It's Dick who should apologize for the shift of change that's throwing the balance between himself and Jason completely off.

His knuckles rub against Jason's thigh before they reach the transportation device and for a split moment, when a gleaming light engulfs the couple ahead and spills across the closed off area, he's given a fleeting chance to say  _sorry_  to Jason at least — but he doesn't.

He hates himself for it.

* * *

The rest of the day reels itself into something rather mundane.

Wally and Artemis show them their apartment that Dick had already visited a couple of times during their retirement from their superhero statuses a few years ago and it looks the same as before, feels almost the same, and maybe if Artemis wasn't sporting a black eye and bandages and Dick didn't have his arm in a sling, it would  _be_  the same as before, too.

Except it's not. And that's very apparent during dinner.

Wally nearly bumps into Jason, almost taking the younger boy's seat, instead of his rightful one at the head of the table. Artemis's tight expression tells Dick that this has been an issue before and he tries not to appear uncomfortable at the thought.

"You should eat you know," Wally advises him halfway through the meal, already on his second plate. "So you don't take your medicine on an empty stomach."

Dick looks down at the food in front of him, a quarter of it gone, and Artemis's eyebrows furrow together as she offers, "do you want something else?"

"Nah I'm fine," he says with a small smile. "Just tired, I guess."

Artemis checks the green clock shaped like a cartoon cat's head hanging on the dinning room's wall, frowning, "fuck, no wonder why. It's almost nine. That movie was way too long, Wally. We should've watched it after dinner." The redhead looks like he's about to protest but stops at her harsh look. Satisfied with his lack of response, she turns back to Dick, "we have a pullout couch and a guest bedroom for you guys. I just gotta get some sheets for the couch."

"I'll take the couch," Jason decides immediately, leaving no room for argument.

Normally, that'd be awfully nice but it doesn't feel like it. Dick just feels more trapped than lucky to have the privacy of his own room but they both know he can't voice his concerns. Instead, he eyes his medicine piled into a small orange carton placed neatly aside of his glass of water and he sighs, defeated.

* * *

It's strange trying to fall asleep on an actual bed for the first time in months.

It's certainly easier on Dick's body compared to his apartment's couch, at least, and the newly washed sheets smell much nicer than the sterile ones in the hospital but there's too much room on the queen size bed. He's gotten used to a smaller area to throw his exhausted limbs on and he's starting to wonder if he likes it so much because it feels like he can curl up into himself and disappear for a bit.

He thinks it's past midnight when the door softly creeks open to his dark, unlit room and he tries not to hitch his breath when he feels the bed dip low.

Initially, he fears its Wally or Artemis searching for answers that he doesn't know. (He doesn't know why Wally's so fucked up, he doesn't know why the redhead's being drawn to dark things that the Light lets slip through, he doesn't know.  _He doesn't know_.) But to his relief, it's Jason instead who's pulling back the covers and slipping under the cool sheets of the empty space next to him.

"Jason," he murmurs lowly, uncertain if his tone should be berating or not. Because he knows this isn't the best position for either of them to be stumbled upon. But with his head still feeling a bit tingly from the pain meds he had taken earlier and, most importantly, with how disjointed their relationship already is, he decides not to disturb its already unbalanced state and instead he aims for a light taunt. "This is new. You must really miss me."

"They've been arguing," Jason just mutters in reply and Dick wonders if he can see his grin disappear in the darkness of the room. "All fucking night. I can't sleep. Figured I'd rather brave your weird wet dreams than hear those two another minute."

Dick feels his chest grow tight, knowing better than to (but still does anyway) ask, "what're they arguing about?"

Jason shrugs, turning to look at him. "I dunno. Couple stuff, I guess." He pauses when he feels Dick's arm drape over the side of his body, a strange look settling across his features. "Um."

"There isn't a security camera in this room, I checked," assures Dick, quiet and tired. "And sorry. This probably isn't the best place for us to be at right now."

He feels the broad boy chuckle within his grasp. "There's really no 'best place' for us to be at, Dickhead."

"Yeah but I figured I should still apologize," he presses, hoping Jason hears all the things he doesn't say past his short admission with little to no subtext to weigh it down with true sincerity.

If Jason isn't aware of the underlying connotation, he still doesn't pry. He's not like Dick, never has been and never will be — he doesn't need formalities or explanations. Even as a kid all he ever needed was the slightest signal from Bruce before rushing into whatever situation was present, guns metaphorically blazing.

"I honestly don't really give a fuck," he assures his counterpart, "maybe some sunshine will do you good. You're starting to look as pale as that shrimp. Not a good look on you, Grayson."

"Hmm, I see your point. I mean, last time I spent a few days on the beach I was definitely called a bronzed Adonis," Dick quips back, blatantly ignoring the insult directed clearly toward Tim.

He feels his face grow warm when Jason shuffles closer, another part of his body beginning to warm at an even faster rate as he feels callused fingertips trace the exposed skin of his stomach. Jason's cool hand slips under his loose tee-shirt and his eyebrows furrow, his head growing a little lighter as he grips Jason's arm warningly. His mind may still be buzzing a bit — from his medicine and possibly not being touched like this for months (...okay, maybe like a year so) — but he knows with fierce certainty that this isn't a good idea, despite how much his body feels like it is most definitely is.

He leans closer, teeth grinding against the younger boy's neck, and he ignores the way Jason shudders slightly when he chides, "Jason."

The aforementioned boy smirks wickedly and Dick can feel his body unintentionally react to the nearly primal sneer. "You said there's no security camera."

And well, he's technically right.

Dick's lack of response just seems to encourage him more, dragging his fingernails against the one of the tips of Dick's defined abdominal v barely peaking out from his sweatpants. Dick lets out a groan and, to Jason's delight, bites slightly down on his collarbone as his fingers continue to dip, going further and further down and—

Dick opens his eyes, tracing the gray outlines of the pictures hanging periodically throughout the walls of the guest room, and then to the picture resting on a nightstand near Jason's head. He can barely see it in the minimal light that's seeping out from under the door, but can decipher that its a picture of Artemis and Wally.

_Wally_.

The realization twists in his stomach, like a searing hot coil, and he feels his body go rigid.

He's in Wally's —  _Wally's_  — old apartment, his good arm is wrapped around Jason, his lips pressed tightly against the other boy's neck, Jason's hand curling against the loosened band of his sweatpants, and their bodies feel like they're on fire, burning like Dick's racing thoughts. With his head in a slight fog, this entire situation seems like a surreal, hazy dream but goddamnit, he tells himself fiercely, this is  _real_ ; they're alive,  _they're alive_.

Jason feels Dick's hesitation, pulling back a bit as he asks slightly breathless, "did I do something?"

"No," he says firmly and quickly, but it doesn't seem to convince the taller boy because one of Jason's hands is at his side while the other is snaking through the empty space between his neck resting on his pillow and the bed. "Jason, it's not you."

Unconvinced, the younger boy clicks his tongue. "Okay then, Boy Blunder, are you gonna tell me what the fuck is going on?" When Dick furrows his eyebrows, he rolls his eyes, "you know I never care enough to pry but it's obviously more important than  _this_." He raises one hand, motioning to the empty space between them, "and I'm not really in the mood for you to shove your problems all the way back down your throat and have weird dreams about it tonight."

Dick feels his chest clench painfully. Not even in his sleep can he suppress his unraveling nerves.

Things still aren't adding up and are becoming even more tangled as he throws himself deeper and deeper into this mess. But then, he wonders, what happens when it  _does_  become resolved? What happens if they find the pits? What happens if Tim's right?

He knows the answer, even if it's almost unbearable to think of the grim ramification.

He knows they'll just take Wally and Jason away from him.

He knows he'll fail to protect them (like he always seems to fucking do) and it won't be anyone's fault but his.

His guilt, the emptying, jarring feeling of sadness that's been pushed toward the backward of his mind for what feels like an eternity, finds a crack within their conversation and he feels like his world breaks apart.

Within seconds all his training — all of his ability to force himself to recover quicker than his own bones can heal, his reflex to smirk and color his words with condescending snark when his flesh is ripped open instead of wincing at the violent pain, his talent to compress and forget all the grief he carries for everyone that's died, or been hurt, or gone missing under his watch — feels like it disintegrates from his very hands.

He doesn't cry but he thinks he comes close to it.

Jason doesn't say anything almost like he understands (expect he fucking doesn't, but how could he?) and just squeezes Dick's hip as the older boy stares into the darkness of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello? yes, dick's starting to unravel, sorta like this plot, and yes, i am the queen of angst and being lame. thank you again for all your support.


	14. Chapter 14

_The Lazarus Pits._

_Composition: Ancient properties (or dark magic?)_

_Results: Longevity (rumored); Resurgent (possibly proven by Jason Todd & Wally West. Test results are presently inclusive)_

_Location: Currently unknown but associated with the al Ghuls underground network. Possibly affiliated with ley lines. (Multiple districts? All probable locations listed below.)_

Dick rubs his eyes as he reads the fourth coordinate before folding the wrinkled paper back into its envelope and slipping it into his pocket again. He's probably reread the sparse information Babs had given him about a dozen times now; his mind fresh with the exact latitude/longitude positions he could easily swing by one of the areas to propel his own side investigation if he had transportation readily available for him.

But the slightly icy pull of wind that rakes across his hair and skin and the dull ache bubbling around his shoulder remind him why he cannot.

The weather in Palo Alto is not as warm as he initially thinks it would be. While not nearly as frigid as the impending fall weather the incoming season promises to cast over Gotham, the bay area still contains its own chilly properties and he sighs to himself as he pulls his free arm closer to his chest as another blast of a breeze lofts over him.

The bench he's sitting upon is starting to hurt his glutes and thighs with its cold and inflexible steel material and he thinks he probably ought to move and stretch his limbs but something compels him to remain where he is. Perhaps it's the quietness that falls over the area of the park he's in, watching Wally teach a small kid how to properly fly a kite while Jason's reading on his own bench a slight distance away, that obstructs Dick's motivation to move. But as peaceful as this fragmented lapse of time is, it  _still_  feels unfamiliar and uncomfortable to Dick. Still makes him think that this moment is just jarring reminder of what a normal life, unmarred from vigilante activities and all its repercussions, could've been led by not only him, but his best friend and adoptive brother too.

Upon the unsettling thought he looks to Jason for a moment, the tall boy's body laid flat on the bench with his head propped up by a backpack. Hazy sunlight weaves through the treelines and highlights his strong jawline and faint freckles that are splashed against the bridge of his nose that looks like it's been broken and improperly reset a few times. A particular memory that involves a teen version of Dick himself and an even much younger version of Jason sparring flitters to the forefront of Dick's mind, and he casts his vision elsewhere when he hears that distinctive _crunch_  noise (a result from when his hand comes into contact with preteen Jason's nose) cycle through his ears.

Wally's abrupt laugh pulls his eyes to focus on the redhead and he watches as Wally balances a green frisbee on the back of his freckled hand and effortlessly rolls it down his arm, over his shoulders and upper back, and slides it on his other hand. The little kid, the evident owner of the frisbee (and forgotten kite that's lying a few feet away), and his parents clap in awe while Dick just rolls his eyes. Wally's  _always_  been such a show off.

"So pretentious," comments a voice and he blinks, turning his head to see Artemis behind him. She's got her blonde hair down for once, a tired smile painted across her face, and she rests her hands against the back of the bench as she leans forward and adds, "really thinks he's hot shit, doesn't he?"

Dick chuckles at that — although can't quite shake the unsettling realization that he didn't hear her approach him from behind, but chalks it up to being distracted and Artemis unintentionally set in her vigilante autopilot mode where accidentally turning a pebble over could meet horrible circumstances — and he replies, "not much has changed, huh?"

She gives him an easy grin and uses her good arm to latch tighter onto the outdoor furniture before kicking her legs up and twisting her body over onto the bench in an easy jump, landing in a sitting position. "Wally's ego can probably transcend into different planes of existence."

Dick laughs again, slumping in his seat as he relaxes a bit and shifts the subject slightly, feeling a little guilty the aforementioned redhead isn't present to defend himself. "Catch a good nap while we were eating?"

"I guess," shrugs Artemis, "I wouldn't call whatever I took an actual nap." She pauses for a moment, playing with the ends of her hair absentmindedly as she says, "I'm used to it though. I honestly haven't been able to sleep since… well, y'know. Since Wally… since he came back."

He tries to give her a sympathetic smile but the stiffness of his mouth's muscles feels a bit off and he thinks he unintentionally gives her a grimace instead. If he does, however, she doesn't seem acknowledge it and forges on as Dick attempts to bury the rattling feeling that's beginning to build in his chest.

"You know, Wally and I used to come here a lot when we first started going to college," she tells him, her eyes wandering across the large park. "We'd sit here for hours if you can believe Wally actually sitting still for more than ten minutes. But we did. We'd watch the families, discuss our classes; even used to talk about having kids. The whole shebang."

"Oh," he says a bit absently, his attention still fixated on her previous mention of not being able to sleep since Wally's revival. He restrains himself from prying even deeper, assessing the situation first, but cannot ignore how disquieting this moment is beginning to become.

The archer sighs as she mutters more to herself than him, "I wonder if we'll ever talk about those things again."

"Give it some time," he assures her, "that's all Wally ever wanted. To have a family with you, I mean. He just needs some time to readjust, you know?"

There's a sudden and strange tightness to Artemis' features and Dick swears he sees one side of her mouth curl upward, contorting her stilted smile into a snarl, but when he blinks that subtle movement is gone. Instead, Artemis just replies, "I actually  _don't_  know, Dick, so why don't you tell me more about my boyfriend?"

"Excuse me?" Dick frowns, turning to look at her with lines of confusion weighing down his face.

She shakes her head at him with an unpleasant grin. "C'mon, Hunk Wonder, don't play dumb. I mean, Wally's your best friend, right? It only makes sense you know more things about him than I do."

A surge of panic rolls up his spine and for a moment, he's too perturbed to reply. Artemis still waits; however, her gaze unwavering. And when her eyes reflect something more like suspicion, Dick manages to find his voice and insists harshly, "that's… that's not what I was implying. I'm sorry I didn't mean—"

"You didn't mean what, Dick?" She cuts him off, her words and eyes sharp with distaste.

He doesn't realize how close she is until she leans forward, her breath bouncing against his, and her fingertips find a healing cut on the side of Dick's face. He wants to pull back as the hairs on his neck prickle slightly at the close proximity between them but he just can't seem to move or look away, feeling cornered and trapped. Trapped like a wild animal in headlights.

Her eyes search his face for a moment, studying the minuscule wound on his cheek until her fingers abruptly find his jaw and clamp down so hard he thinks her nails are close to breaking his skin.

"Dick, what didn't you mean?" She repeats, her smile stretching at an awful angle. "You didn't mean for my dead boyfriend to come back to life and coincidentally forget about me? You didn't mean for him to think about you while he's fucking me?"

She chidingly taps his cheek with one finger, the rest of her hand still holding his jaw in place, as she continues with a cruel sneer, "I guess it makes sense though, huh? I mean, you've always been in love with him since you were kids, right? I was just a wrench thrown into the plan. It's not like you didn't like me, but it's not like you were a fan of me either. I bet you _reveled_  in the idea of me really dying when I went undercover, huh? Bet you thought you could make it up to Wally if I really ended up dying."

He chokes on her words and tries to vehemently shake his head in disagreement but her grip is like iron. " _No_ ," he says firmly, "Artemis, I swear that's not how I felt. You're like a sister to me, I would never—"

"Like a  _sister_?" she barks out in a vicious laugh. "Some kind of sibling you are. Tell me, Dick, do you think of Wally when Jason touches you?"

His eyes widen. "W-what? Artemis, no, I—"

"Because," she presses in, ignoring his interjection, "if you need pointers for Wally, I can give you some." She feels him try to move his head within her steel-like hold and she grins again, letting it split her mouth from ear to ear, as she asks him with false sincerity, "is something wrong, Dick?"

"This —  _you_. You're not real." he tells her with strong conviction, beginning to maneuver his body to the side as he grips hard onto the back of the bench beside him and the railing behind him. Adrenaline is starting to buzz underneath his skin as he tries to grasp his bearings, his surroundings beginning to splotch together into blurry images all around him. "This isn't real. This is a dream."

"What's the difference, Dick?" she challenges him. "Just because you think this is happening in your dreams, doesn't mean it isn't happening in real life. You always loved Wally; why don't you love him now? Is he too fucked up for you? Too uncontainable? I always figured you'd love the thrill of having someone fuck you raw. I promise Wally can do all that and mo—"

She's abruptly cut off mid sentence as Dick kicks her hard enough in the head and chest with both his feet she finally lets go of his face. He manages to create space between them as he slides backward from the momentum of the kick but as he collides with the arm railing, he feels his world tilt and he's suddenly falling vertically down.

It's like he jumped out an airplane, the pressure and force of his fall keeping him from properly breathing, and he struggles to make sense of what's up and down. The trees emerging from the dewy grass are growing vertical, the sidewalk rushing past aside of him, and the bench and Artemis are now feet above him; disappearing second by second. He still can't breathe as the images chaotically stream around him, flailing helplessly as he tries to reach a hand out and grab onto something.

He just can't seem too, his fingernails scrapping uselessly against the concrete beside him as his hands struggle; grasping onto nothingness. Instead, something grabs  _him_.

He feels like the little air he's been able to inhale is knocked forcibly out of him as his back suddenly hits something solid. His feet are still dangling below him and he tries to slide his fingers into a dent in the pavement, attempting to steady himself but just when he thinks he regains some balance, he feels whatever is holding him up shift and hot breath billows against the dip of his shoulder.

"You'd think someone that used called himself Robin would know how to fly, huh?"

"Jason?" he questions, his head heavy from his inability to breathe. Even now midair without the force of gravity violently pulling him down, it seems like he can't manage to intake enough air in his lungs. "What is this place? Where the hell are we?"

"Right where you left me last, remember?" Jason tells him.

"This isn't where I left you," Dick says, disconcertion coloring his hoarse voice, "I — the tent, Haly Circus' tent. That's where I left you."

"Dreams aren't fixed points, Dickie," his counterpart informs him and when he looks at Jason his heart constricts as his eyes are met with rotting skin and hair beginning to sag off of the younger boy's face. "They're perpetually changing; growing into different things, different reflections of your thoughts. That's why we have dreams and nightmares."

Gripping tightly on the groove of the pavement, Dick feels his arms start to tremble; uncertain of how long he'll be able to hold himself in tact if Jason fully lets go of him. He inhales a sharp breath, his lungs painfully tightening, as he asks, "but why did Artemis show up in this one? And Wally in the one before?"

"Beats me," shrugs Jason, "it's getting a little too crowded in here if you're asking me, pretty bird." His lips find the crook of Dick's neck and it feels  _so real_  when he moves his mouth against Dick's prickling skin as he says, "but it's your lucky day it's me who found you and not the others."

_But why?_  Dick wants to ask and the tall boy answers like he hears him, "because I'm going to help wake you up. If the other two found you; well, let's just say they'd rather you hang out here a little while longer."

Before Dick can even part his lips to reply, Jason releases him and lets him plunge full speed downward into the abyss below.

He feels his body trash frantically again, the force of his fall even more chaotic and faster than before, but when he tries to inhale one last breath to scream he feels his lung expand, finally gaining the ability to intake enough oxygen this time. With his newfound strength, he finally pries his eyes open and…

He's on the living room couch with some sitcom tv show droning on in the background. There's still natural light peering through open blinds and he rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands, sighing to himself as his erratic pulse begins to steady itself.

"Oh, you're up," calls a voice and his neck snaps to the side, his vision falling on Artemis.

Scrubbing a hand through his uneven hair, he wills a contrived smile to his lips and sheepishly apologizes, "sorry. Didn't even realize I dozed off."

She peers at him over the couch, her hair up in its usual low ponytail, and he feels the tightness in his muscles give way slightly when she smirks at him saying, "you used to fall asleep all over the base when we were kids; I'm actually impressed you found a couch this time."

He almost laughs at that—

—But then she adds, "I'm actually a little jealous. It's been hard for me to sleep or even take naps for the past couple of months." and the mood shifts once again.

A daunting feeling looms over him, seeping into the crevices of his bones, and he tries to fight through the haziness that begins cloud around his thoughts. Is he still dreaming? Or is he awake? He wants to pinch his skin to confirm the latter but he doesn't think that'll be any use to him anymore. Not when he can still feel the stinging tips of Dream-Artemis' nails digging harshly into the flesh around his jawline.

"Yeah," he forces himself to reply, his mouth suddenly dry, "I understand."

"But I guess my insomnia's always been such a bitch, y'know? I think training again has thrown off my biology or something," she yawns casually in response, seemingly missing the subtle strain in his voice and stretches before grabbing her jacket on lying on an armrest a few feet away. "I'm gonna run some errands and then grab some groceries from the store down the street, do you want anything in particular?"

He shakes his head, shuffling himself off the couch and onto his feet and pretends to brush dust from his clothes as he inquires with faux nonchalance, "nah, I'm good but thank you. Is Wally at the WatchTower for training?"

"We're taking a small break from training, actually," she answers as she snakes her arms through the openings of her coat. "After what happened over in Stamford we figured we should lie low for a bit, especially since you and Jason are here."

"Understandable," he agrees, watching her reach for her purse and car keys.

She shrugs before looping her bag over her shoulders, "a different change of pace, I guess. Speaking of Wally, I think he's about to get ready for a jog. I'm running a bit behind so I've gotta leave now — if you see him, let him know I'm heading to the grocery store after my hair appointment and to text me if he wants anything."

He nods and she turns before he can verbally agree, shuffling out and closing the door behind her without locking it.

When the sound echoes, Wally and his shock of ginger hair peers out from their bedroom threshold. He pouts, groaning as he asks Dick, "did she really just leave without saying goodbye to me?"

Dick doesn't honestly know and instead replies, "she said for you to text her if you want anything from the grocery store."

Wally rolls his eyes and Dick decides not to pry any further, instead stiffly beginning to pivot toward the guest room but Wally's voice stops him. "Hey, can I ask you a question?"

The acrobat nods, prompting him to continue.

"So Artemis cleaned the guest bedroom and found something…"

Oh. Oh  _shit_.

The Lazarus information.

His minuscule slip of an expression must be clear as day because Wally presses in, leaving no room for Dick to weasel his way out of this accusation with feigned ignorance, "why didn't you tell me you were looking into the pits?"

Dick swallows heavily, answering truthfully, "I'm… I'm not. Babs just gave me some information in case I wanted to. Or if they needed me to."

"Why haven't you asked Jason or I to help? And don't give me that 'It-Doesn't-Concern-You-Bat-Mantra' bullshit."

"Because I'm not bringing you back to that place if it actually exists," he says firmly.

Wally eyes him with a sharp gaze but does a half shrug, seemingly indicating that he's dropping the subject, and offers offhandedly, "I'm going for a run. I can slow my pace if you wanna join."

Dick shakes his head, declining. "I don't wanna slow you down or leave Jason behind."

"He's already working out in our apartment complex gym," the redhead tells him, "he went about a half an hour ago and if he's anything like he was as a kid, I doubt he'll be finished anytime soon."

Dick's eyes tellingly wander to the door aside of him and Wally sighs, a weighted grin stretched across his freckled face. "Right. Family first."

"Physical therapy first, actually," Dick lightly corrects his reason for refusing his friend's offer and that's  _partially_  true. The other half of the truth hiding behind how unsettled he feels being in his once dead best friend's apartment but that's not notable enough to mention. "You know Bruce can tell if I skip out on it. I've done it way too many times before and he's always nagging me about it. But I'm up for a run later tonight or tomorrow morning if you want."

There is a strange look in the redhead's eyes when he agrees, tossing Dick an extra apartment set of keys, "tomorrow morning. The gym's on level 2, take an immediate left when you get off the elevator."

The tight lines on Wally's face reveal that he wants to say something else but doesn't and Dick, for once, just leaves it at that.

* * *

Just as the speedster earlier claims, Jason's working out relatively vigorously in the small, empty gym and Dick pauses to watch for a moment.

While he's always been graceful technique and unmatchable speed, Jason's always been unforgiving strength and unrelenting precision. Even as a kids whenever the younger boy managed to land a well-defined kick or unwavering uppercut on Dick, he had bruises the day after, and he can't help but laugh out loud when present-day Jason breaks the workout room's standard punching bag with one unintentionally powerful strike to it.

"Easy there tiger," he mockingly chides Jason, stepping into the gym as the other boy drags the broken, heavy bag to the side and out of the way. "Can you try to leave this place in one piece for actual tenants?"

Jason wipes the perspiration from his forehead and neck with a towel and scowls, "fuck off. It was an accident and that crappy excuse for a punching bag is probably ten years old." He tosses the damp cloth in his hand to the side, taking a gracious sip from his water bottle before capping it off and asking, "so did you just come here to ogle me and my impressive body or what?"

"Just here for some stretching," answers Dick as he undos the sling around his arm, "you can stay or leave. Wally and Artemis aren't in the apartment though, so I'll have to give you the spare keys."

"I'll wait," Jason says, staring appraisingly as Dick arches and bends backwards as he performs a slow back handstand with his weight shifted mostly to his good arm.

Dick winces as a jolt of pain crawls up his other shoulder, deviating most of his focus on his unmarred extremity, before kicking his feet off the ground and tries to balance his lower body as evenly as he can. Definitely not what a normal physical therapist would recommend as an exercise after dislocating a shoulder but it's when has any part of his life been normal or by the book?

"Shit!" he curses when his injured arm trembles and gives out unexpectedly. He twists his body to the side in attempt to catch himself but Jason's hand finds his mid waist and uses the momentum of his fall to pull him upward and help him land a shaky one-handed somersault. He sighs, disappointed in his lack of prowess, and sinks down to his knees as he says a bit distantly, "thanks."

Jason rolls his eyes before plopping down on the floor with him. "C'mon, do that weird needle pose."

"You mean thread and needle?" Dick laughs but complies, extending and curving his body into the pose and Jason gingerly helps stretch his shoulder jotting upward a little further back.

When the older boy exhales a breath of relief, Jason lets go and allows Dick to switch sides and performs the same assistance as earlier. "You know, Dickie, this is actually a yoga pose experts say  _not_  to perform if they have a neck or shoulder injury."

"Most people don't try to do handstands either," the acrobat quips, "consider me special, Jay."

"Not sure if I'd consider you special per se, but you're definitely something," Jason murmurs more to himself than Dick and the older boy grins at the remark.

This moment is almost pleasantly surreal with just the two of them far, far away from Gotham and her sister cities with all their harsh gray undertones and glaring responsibilities. Dick's dreams are still heavy and dark but at least when he's awake here he's welcomed with clandestine kisses and warm touches from Jason that leave his insides ablaze and wild with need.

Maybe it's how frigid Bludhaven always is, or the cool, empty corridors of the Manor and Batcave he grew up in, but he's starting to become less and less inclined to the cold. He hazily thinks as Jason leans more body weight on his back — the younger boy's teeth finding the curve of his earlobe — if Jason's all fire and carnal heat, he wouldn't mind flying a little closer to the sun. Even if that means his wings might just burn off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is still a bit vague and confusing but I promise things are coming to a head soon!! Thanks for all your support and feedback so far :')


End file.
